


Navigating the Nightmare

by The_Swordsman



Category: Deadliest Catch RPF
Genre: Deadliest Catch, F/V Northwestern, Precognition, Sig has nightmares, Sig swears a lot, Sleep-deprived Sig, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Swordsman/pseuds/The_Swordsman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the red crab season, Sig begins to suffer from horrific nightmares. As the Captain struggles to cope with the additional stress, he wonders if his ominous dreams are a sign that he's losing his sanity or if the nightmares are forewarning him of danger in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. I adore the Hansens (Sig is my favorite) and the crew of the F/V Northwestern and I mean no disrespect towards them or anyone else who appears on the show by writing this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that, when written, F/V (Fishing Vessel) is supposed to precede the name of the boat; for convenience sake, I will ignore this rule and will italicize all ship names instead.

 

* * *

          Sigurd 'Sig' Hansen, Captain of the 125' _Northwestern_ , strode confidently towards the stern[i] of his boat where Norman, Nick, and Edgar were building the stack of crab cages[ii] on the deck. [iii] Looking up, he saw his youngest brother at the top, 25' in the air. "Edgar!" Sig bellowed, startling a squabble of nearby seagulls into taking flight.

           "Just a minute!" Edgar called, yelling to be heard over the mechanical hum of the knuckle crane[iv] and the clattering steel of the crab pots as Norman moved the gear on the dock closer to the boat. The deck boss stooped down, methodically checking and tightening the ties that held the pots together in an unmovable layer; loose, sloppy knots would allow the pots to shift with the rough seas and their unbalanced weight could capsize the boat. Satisfied with his work, Edgar skillfully climbed down to see what Sig wanted. "What's up?"

           "Hey," Sig said, speaking at a more reasonable volume, "We're clear to leave port as soon as all our gear's on."

           "Matt and Jake are stocking the bait freezer," Edgar explained. "And," he pointed to the dwindling collection of cages that waited on the dock, "Me, Nick, and Norman are gettin' the rest of the pots loaded."

          "Okay, good," Sig said, casually crossing his arms. "Radar's showin' a storm's gonna hit Dutch[v] late tomorrow morning and-" he leaned against a crab pot, his left shoulder resting against one of the vertical steel support bars, and abruptly stopped mid-sentence.

          "And?" Edgar prompted. "Hello~?" he called, obnoxiously snapping his fingers in the fair-haired Hansen's face. " _Northwestern_ to Sig?"

          Sig scowled reproachfully at Edgar and stepped back, breaking contact with the crab cage; he shook his head, attempting to dispel the sudden foreboding he'd felt as soon as he had touched the metal. "And," Sig continued, expertly hiding his unease, "I wanna be halfway to the red[vi] crab grounds by then."

         "We'll be ready to throw the lines[vii] before dawn," Edgar answered, deciding to ignore Sig's strange lapse.         

          "Good," Sig said. "I'm gonna go meet up with the other Captains then." Leaving the deck boss to his work, Sig gracefully climbed onto the dock and glanced around; he watched his rivals, loading and stacking their fishing gear on their respective vessels, and breathed a silent sigh of relief when he experienced no more augural episodes. Sig glanced over his shoulder at the crab pot he'd touched, noting the number seventy-seven buoy bags[viii] stored inside, and shivered as the feeling of foreboding returned twice as strong. "Damn it," he muttered, averting his eyes and turning away. Sig headed towards the parking lot to retrieve his truck, trying to ignore his worsening feelings of apprehension and anxiety. 'Maybe that pot is an omen or somethin'.' Sig scowled, annoyed by the thought. 'Superstition is one thing, but a crab cage is a tool of my trade,' he told himself sternly. 'It's not an omen, ill or otherwise.'

* * *

         Johnathan 'John' Hillstrand, Co-Captain of the 113' _Time Bandit_ , nudged his younger brother Andy to get his attention. "I'm gonna go have a smoke with Sig," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor of the busy bar.

        "Okay," Andy nodded. He held up his fingers in the Boy Scout salute. "And I promise not to drink your beer while you're gone."   

        "You touch my beer and I'll go Captain on your ass,"[ix] he threatened, playfully slugging his brother in the arm. Andy held up his hands in mock-surrender and John left the Captains' table, pretending not to notice that Andy immediately grabbed the unattended bottle and drained it. Johnathan zipped up his leather USA coat and stepped outside. "Hey, Hansen!" he called, moving to join the Norwegian fisherman in the circle of light created by the overhead streetlight. 

         "Hey, John," Sig answered, an un-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. "Thought you were inside with the others," he remarked, his breath condensing into a visible cloud in the cold, October[x] air.

         "I feel the need for nicotine, man," Johnathan chuckled, reaching into his coat to retrieve his own cigarettes. "You were kinda quiet in there tonight," the eldest Hillstrand observed, exhaling a stream of smoke up into the air. "Everything okay?" 

         "Yeah, everything's fine," Sig said, tucking his unoccupied hand into the pocket of his blue _Northwestern_ jacket to protect it from the bite of the autumn wind. "The guys were stackin' on the last of our gear when I left," he continued, "So we'll be outta here before the storm blows in tomorrow." Sig shivered suddenly, hunching his broad shoulders against a chill that had nothing to do with the cold temperature; unease lingered in the back of his mind and gnawed away at his nerves like a termite nibbling away at a wooden log. 

          "Looks like you got used to the warmer weather in Seattle, eh Sig?" John remarked, seeing Sig shudder and wanting to tease the shorter[xi] man about his decreased tolerance for the Alaskan climate.

          "Maybe," Sig replied distractedly, preoccupied with his efforts to suppress the persistent feelings of anxiety.

          Johnathan subtly studied Sig, noticing the deepening frown lines that creased his friend's forehead and framed his mouth. "You sure you're okay?"

          "Yeah, I'm good," Sig insisted.

          Unconvinced, John shook his head at the stubborn sailor. "Come on, man, spill," he cajoled. "Tell Captain Johnathan all about it."

          "I…" Sig hesitated. He had yet to meet a sailor who wasn't superstitious to some extent; the odds of John ridiculing him for taking an ominous feeling so seriously seemed acceptable.[xii] "When I was talkin' to Edgar earlier," Sig began, "I got this feeling that somethin' awful is gonna happen to us out there."

          "Oh?" John prompted, concerned and curious.

          "I mean," Sig continued, "You've had times when your guys are workin' on deck and you hear this...whisper in the back of your mind, warnin' you that one of 'em's gonna get caught in the bight[xiii] or clobbered by a piece of fallin' ice,[xiv] right?"

          "Yeah," John agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

          Sig took a final drag off his cigarette, tossed it down onto the gravel, and extinguished it with the toe of his brown work boot. "This was just…" he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and ran his hand through his thinning hair, struggling to describe how intense the experience had been. "…This was like when you're all dry and warm, you know, and you've had your coffee or whatever and then *splash* you get that wave and it just hits you right in the face and you're soakin' wet.[xv] Or like a sucker punch[xvi] to the gut. This? This wasn't a whisper, it was a _scream_ ," Sig explained, frowning. The Norwegian glanced over, meeting Johnathan's gaze.

          'Okay, that's a little disconcerting,' the eldest Hillstrand thought, suppressing a shiver of his own. John had always been a little unnerved by Sig's eyes; to him, it felt like Sig could effortlessly see down into his soul…now, Sig's sea-blue eyes practically _glowed_ with some kind of otherworldly awareness.

          "It really rattled me, man," Sig confessed, shaking his head and averting his eyes in an unconscious display of embarrassment.

          John nodded solemnly, realizing how difficult it was for Sig to admit something that could be perceived as a weakness. "Hey," he began, "No one could blame you for bein' a little unsettled. Hell," he laughed with a touch of self-deprecation, "I'd be a nervous wreck, man. But, this is a good thing, y'know?" Seeing Sig's skeptical expression, he continued, "You had this flash of forewarning and now you're gonna be extra vigilant because of it."

          "Yeah, that's true," Sig agreed. The fair-haired fisherman cleared his throat. "Thanks," he said gruffly.

          "Happy to help, man," Johnathan answered, slapping Sig manfully on the back.

          The bar door swung open and Phil Harris poked his head outside. "There you are," the Captain of the 128' _Cornelia Marie_ exclaimed. "We were wondering where you two disappeared off to."

          "We were just comin' in," John said as he and Sig approached the entrance. "I'm turnin' into a popsicle out here," he griped, the gravel crunching noisily under his feet.

          Sig raised a single, taunting eyebrow. "Thought you were accustomed to the arctic climate, Hillstrand," he snarked good-naturedly.

          "Shut it, Hansen," John retorted with a wide grin.

          "You guys get lost?" Keith Colburn asked as they reclaimed their seats at the Captains' table. 'Maybe they formed an alliance,' the skipper of the 155' _Wizard_ thought, eyeing Sig and John with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. 'Nah,' the balding fisherman thought, dismissing the idea. 'Sig and John are both renown for going their own way. They're not really the type to partner up.'[xvii]

          "If you guys couldn't find me and John," Sig joked, "How're you gonna find the crab?"

          "Ha freakin' ha, Hansen," Keith retorted, his face reddening with irritation.

          "Andy," Johnathan interjected mildly, "Did you drink my beer?"

          "I plead the fifth," Andy replied, smiling deviously as he dodged the swat his brother aimed at the back of his head.

          Not to be denied his retribution, John leapt up and caught Andy in a headlock. "Told you I'd go Captain on your ass!" he declared, knocking Andy's cap off and vigorously rubbing his knuckles against his younger brother's scalp.

          "Let go, man," Andy laughed. He squirmed in John's unfaltering hold, inadvertently making them both stumble sideways into the edge of the table and causing the glassware to rattle ominously.

          "All right, that's enough," Phil intervened, chuckling merrily at the siblings' antics. "You two jokers are gonna get us tossed outta here."

          Emerging from the scuffle victorious, John adjusted the collar of his trademark leather jacket and offered the younger Hillstrand a wide grin when Andy glowered at him. "Any ideas for the wager for this season?" he asked as Andy scooped his hat off the floor and absently rubbed the top of his head before putting it back on.

          Sig's attention drifted as the others debated the parameters for the bet. 'Johnathan was right,' he thought. I feel almost sick with apprehension, but I'll endure it if it means I can get my crew home alive and well….' Sig looked up when Phil snapped his fingers next to his ear.

          "You gonna get in on the action, Sig?" the Captain of the _Cornelia Marie_ questioned.

          "Or are you playin' it safe this season?" Keith added.

          "Yeah, count me in," Sig answered as the waitress appeared with a serving tray of the traditional Dutch Harbor duck farts.[xviii] Sig raised his glass. "To good fishing and a safe season."

          "Amen, brother," Johnathan replied, offering the fourth generation fisherman a reassuring grin from across the table as the Captains clinked their glasses together.

* * *

          Fat, heavy raindrops splattered against the wheelhouse windows as the house-forward[xix] fishing vessel sailed through the water at her[xx] maximum speed.[xxi] Nick Mavar checked the _Northwestern's_ heading to make sure they stayed on course and grinned, thinking of how they'd beat most of the other boats to the fishing grounds.[xxii] While the other deckhands used the twenty-four hours[xxiii] of traveling time to stock up on sleep, Nick had offered to spot Sig at the helm so the Captain could catch a quick nap. He yawned, belatedly covering his mouth before raising his arms above his head to stretch; he stopped mid-motion and stared at the monitor near his left knee that displayed the live footage from the camera out on deck.

          Nick peered at the small television under the console. "The hell…?" He squinted at the man-shaped shadow on the screen, trying to identify him, but the insufficient light from the fixtures above the bait station[xxiv] wasn't bright enough. Nick engaged the autopilot, rose from the Captain's chair, and clambered down the narrow staircase that led deeper into the boat; he passed Sig's stateroom,[xxv] located just off the small landing, and continued on his way to the galley.[xxvi] Nick lightened his steps as he passed his crewmates' cabins[xxvii] and turned right, silently passing the cabinet that housed the TV, Xbox, and a few movies, then right again into the small hallway; a door at the end of the corridor led to the head[xxviii] and the door to the left led to the entryway.[xxix] In the entryway, the bearded fisherman shrugged into his dark red rain jacket and pulled on his rubber rain boots. 'Let there be light,' Nick thought as he flipped the switches for the deck floods.[xxx]

          Nick pulled up his hood, stepped outside, and looked around, startling in surprise when he saw Sig standing between the launcher[xxxi] and the base layer of pots in the towering 30' stack. "Sig!" He rushed to the Captain's side. "Sig, what're you doin' out here?" Nick frowned worriedly when Sig continued to stare eerily out at the ocean. 'He's not even dressed for this weather,' Nick thought, eyeing Sig's dark red, long-sleeved Henley and designer jeans, both of which were drenched with rain and seawater. "Jesus!" he swore, noticing Sig's bare feet, pale against the dark-colored deck planks. Nick took hold of Sig's shoulders and forcefully turned him so they stood face to face. "Sig!"

          The Captain blinked as though waking from a dream. "Nick?"

          "Come on," Nick said, "Let's get inside before you catch pneumonia." He shepherded the disoriented fisherman towards the safety and warmth of the entryway. "You need to get out of those wet clothes," he said, gesturing at the wet garments that were plastered flat against Sig's body. "Take your stuff off," Nick continued authoritatively, "And I'll go grab you some dry clothes."

          Too cold and confused argue, Sig forced his numb, uncooperative fingers to grasp the hem of his Henley. The eldest Hansen pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it down onto the brick-red, rubber matting that covered the floor of the entryway. Sig fought with the button on his jeans for several frustrating moments before finally getting it undone; bracing his forearm against the wall to steady himself, he peeled the waterlogged denim off his long legs. 'The hell was I doin' out there?' Sig wondered, staring dazedly down at the sopping pile of clothes that lay near his bare feet.

          "Take off those wet shorts too," Nick advised, startling the boxer-clad blonde as he returned with an armful of the Captain's clothes, a towel, and a blanket. The deckhand unfolded the towel to form a makeshift privacy screen and averted his eyes to preserve Sig's dignity.

          "Fuck," Sig cursed as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his boxers and pushed them down over his hips. Nick was a good man, a good deckhand, and a good friend,[xxxii] but Sig still felt mortified; he was the Captain of one of the most successful vessels in the fleet and, here he was, standing naked in front of one of his crewmen because he'd wandered out on deck in the middle of the night during a damn rainstorm. "Fuck," he swore again.

          "Here," Nick said, carefully keeping his eyes fixed on the colorful collection of raingear as he held out a pair of dry boxers.

          "Thanks," Sig replied gruffly as he pulled the underwear on. He accepted the towel and wiped away the lingering water before donning the dry socks, jeans, shirt, and sweatshirt.

          "No problem," Nick replied. He settled the blanket over Sig's shoulders like a cape and quickly removed his own raingear. "Let's get some coffee,[xxxiii] huh?" he suggested as he scooped up the untidy pile of Sig's clothes and tossed the dripping bundle into the dryer with a wet 'plop.'

          "Coffee would be good," Sig agreed. The two fishermen walked into the galley and set the coffee pot to perking. Once the coffee had been brewed and distributed between them, they soundlessly made their way up to the wheelhouse. Blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, Sig claimed his rightful place in the Captain's chair and verified that the boat hadn't drifted off course. "We're makin' good time," Sig commented, glancing back at Nick who was leaning against the archive cabinet.[xxxiv]

          "Yeah," Mavar agreed. "In a couple hours we'll be fishin'."

          "Knock on wood," Sig remarked, rapping his knuckles twice against the wooden window ledge.

          Grinning, Nick copied the Captain's superstitious gesture. His smile twisted into a frown as he remembered Sig's vacant, thousand-yard-stare when he'd found him outside. "Sig?"

          "Mmm?" Sig grunted as he took a sip of his coffee, relishing how the liquid warmed his chilled body from the inside out.

          "D'you sleepwalk?"

          Sig frowned and tugged the blanket closer to his shivering body. "Not that I know of," he answered. "Why?"

          "I think that's what you were doing when I found you out on deck," the deckhand explained. "You didn't answer when I talked to you and you were just staring at the water. Hell," Nick huffed out a breathy laugh, "I don't think I saw you blink once. It was kinda creepy."

          "Yeah," Sig chuckled self-consciously, "I can believe that."

          "You remember what were you dreaming about?" Nick queried curiously.

          Sig closed his eyes and pressed his fingers firmly against his right eyebrow as hazy details from his dream began to resurface."I remember…" _Sig's feet moved soundlessly across the green carpet towards his youngest brother's bed._ "…Goin' to wake Edgar," he began hesitantly. _He tugged the blankets away from the engineer and was surprised to see that the deck boss was sleeping his raingear._ _The hood of Edgar's rain jacket fell back when Sig shook him to wake him, revealing his brother's face: Deathly still and pale. The bed shimmered like a desert mirage and morphed into a mahogany casket with Edgar's corpse, still dressed in his rain suit, inside._

          Sig's breathing sped up and his fingers fisted in the blanket, garnering a concerned frown from Nick. "Sig? You okay?"

          _The cover of the coffin slammed closed with a deafening, metallic crash, the same sound a falling crab pot made. Sig looked around, startled to discover that he was standing on the deck of the_ Northwestern _and that Edgar's coffin had been placed on the pot launcher. Jake approached the casket and carefully set the number seventy-seven buoy bag atop the closed lid, substituting it in place of a traditional floral arrangement. The number burned into Sig's brain like a white-hot brand, leaving him unable to do anything but watch as the coffin containing his brother's body was ejected over the starboard **[xxxv]** rail and swallowed by the sea. _

          Sig's sea-blue eyes snapped open and he looked wildly around the wheelhouse. The familiar surroundings blurred and the Captain distantly realized that he'd started to hyperventilate. "Shit!" he gasped breathlessly.

          "Easy," Nick coached, moving to the distressed sailor's side. "Just breathe, okay? In, nice and slow, and out." The deckhand exaggerated his own relaxed breathing pattern and smiled encouragingly when Sig slowly regulated his own breathing to match.

          Sig combed an unsteady hand through his hair, chuckling humorlessly. "Well," he said, "That's two firsts for me tonight: Sleepwalkin' and a frickin' panic attack."

          "Everyone's entitled to one panic attack in their life," Nick declared. He diplomatically decided not to mention the dream that Sig had started to recount, wisely inferring that whatever the Norwegian had remembered had not been pleasant.

          "I guess so," Sig reluctantly agreed. The fourth generation fisherman shook his head, mentally shrugging off the ordeal as best as he could. "I should probably grab a shower," Sig said, trying, and failing, to suppress a shiver. "Unthaw a little, y'know?"

          "Ah," Nick teased, grinning widely, "Your last shower for the duration of the trip."

          Sig scowled, but was inwardly grateful to Nick for trying to lighten the mood. "I shower," he argued. "I know Edgar has this asinine theory that I don't like to shower 'cause it's bad luck,"[xxxvi] Sig scoffed, "But, I get so focused on fishin' that I forget. Showers, sleep, and food are all pretty low on my list of priorities when I get into fishing mode."[xxxvii]

          "Do us a favor and write a reminder on a post-it note,"[xxxviii] Nick suggested jovially, pointing to the pad of adhesive-backed, yellow papers on the Captain's console.

          "Ack, all you guys over-exaggerate. It's not like a stench cloud follows me wherever I go," Sig grumbled. "Besides," he concluded, "There are worse things to smell."

          "Yeah? Like what?" Nick queried, right eyebrow quirked upwards as he took a sip from his coffee cup.

          "Like Edgar's breath after he bites the head off the herring."[xxxix]

          Nick laughed, nearly snorting coffee out his nose. "You jerk," he spluttered, still chuckling, "You did that on purpose."

          "This ain't my first rodeo, brother,"[xl] Sig answered, rasping laughter escaping his smirking lips as he stood up. "I’ll take a quick shower and then take the watch," [xli] he said as he headed for the staircase, blanket trailing along in his wake.

          "Careful so you don't trip going down those stairs there, Linus,"[xlii] Mavar quipped as he took Sig's place at the wheel.

          Sig paused at the top of the stairway and pointed a warning finger at the deckhand. "Hey," he began sternly, "I can't be both Linus _and_ Pigpen.[xliii] You need to make up your mind here." Nick's rumbling laughter drifted down from the wheelhouse as Sig descended the narrow staircase and entered his stateroom.

* * *

          "And now," Edgar declared, "It's time to honor everyone's favorite Norwegian tradition aboard the _Northwestern:_ Biting the head off the herring!" The deck boss brandished the fish at Matt, who turned slightly green and gagged in response. The youngest Hansen spun in place, the rubber soles of his rain boots squealing as they turned against the deck wet with seawater. "You wanna give it a go?" Edgar asked, dangling the herring millimeters from the tip of Jake's nose and making the younger man go slightly cross-eyed.

          "I did it last time for Opies,"[xlv] Jake protested, shaking his head.

          The relief skipper whirled to face Nick. "How 'bout it, Mavar?"

          "Edgar!" Sig shouted from the upper deck. The sea-eyed sailor leaned against the blue-painted railing, the diamonds in his right hand ring flashing like white fire in the bright sunlight. "Are you gonna dance with it or bite it? We came here to fish, not to see your interpretation of Swan Lake."[xlvi]

          "Ah God," Matt moaned theatrically, "Now I've got this mental image of Edgar wearing a leotard…." He shuddered. "Thanks Sig."

          "Ha ha," the deck boss deadpanned, frowning first at Matt before scowling up at Sig.

          "I think it's funnier that Sig has seen Swan Lake," Nick snickered, amused by the thought of the other fisherman sitting through four acts of ballet.

          "Hmph," the Captain huffed, standing up straight and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Think I've changed my mind about giving Edgar his present."

          "Present?" Edgar questioned, regarding his brother with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

          "But," Jake wondered aloud, "How would withholding Edgar's gift punish _us_?"

          The fair-haired Hansen reached into the left pocket of his teal-green, button-down shirt, where he normally kept his Camel cigarettes.[xlvii]  "Well," Sig chuckled, retrieving a small box, "It's really a present for everyone, but it benefits Edgar the most." He turned the palm-sized package over in his hands. "Ah, what the hell." Sig shrugged, tossing the gift down to his youngest brother. "Don't say I never gave you nothin'," he laughed, leaving the landing to return to the wheelhouse.

          "What is it?" Norman asked as he, Nick, Matt, and Jake all gathered around Edgar.

          "Cigarettes?" Jake suggested, eyeing the newspaper-wrapped package.

          "The box is the wrong size," Nick disagreed.

          "Here, hold this a minute," Edgar said, transferring the herring into Matt's hands, much to the deckhand's dismay. He eagerly tore the paper off the small package and gazed at the container of breath mints with a perplexed expression. "The hell…?"

          Sig's rasping laughter echoed over the loudhailer.[xlviii]"For after you bite the herring."

          "Can I have one?" Jake asked.

          "Yeah, Fish Breath," Matt sniggered, "Share."

          "Hey!" Edgar exclaimed with mock-outrage. "I do my sacred duty to ensure a good catch and _this_ is the thanks I get?" He snatched the herring from Matt's hand and viciously bit its head off. Edgar turned, spitting the severed fish head onto the deck near Jake's booted feet. "Next year we're going back to drawin' straws!"[xlix] he declared, opening the small container and popping multiple peppermint-flavored mints into his mouth.

          "All right," Sig's voice emerged from the speaker, "Set it when you're ready. Let's get some."[l]

          "Roger," Matt, Jake, Norman, and Edgar readily replied.

          "Roger," Nick wheezed, clutching his laugh-sore sides and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

* * *

          Edgar momentarily retreated to the entryway as Norman used the knuckle crane to lower the next pot down from the top of the stack. The deck boss slid a cigarette out of the pack, used a convenient blowtorch to light it, and stepped back outside into the bright sunlight. Smoldering cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, he helped guide the eight hundred pound, steel crab cage onto the launcher. Edgar and Matt unknotted the ties on the horizontal door and swung it open so Jake could climb inside to hang the bait.[li]

          "Done," Jake announced as he scooted out and returned to the bait station to prepare the bait for the next pot.

          Edgar wiped a mix of sweat and seawater off his forehead before retying the pot ties that held the door securely shut. Norman stood ready at the hydraulic controls, Matt prepared to throw the shots[lii] of white and yellow line, and Edgar grabbed the buoy bags.

          Up in the wheelhouse, Sig studied the GPS plotter[liii] to ensure that the pots were evenly spaced[liv] throughout the string, finger was poised over the buzzer[lv] button. He tapped the dime-sized, silver button to signal to his crew that they should deploy the pot. 

          "Pot number seventy-seven's goin' over!" Edgar called, tossing the neon-orange diver bag overboard and then casually throwing the trailer bag after it.

          'Number seventy-seven,' Sig thought, frowning. He entered the information into the plotter and shook his head, dismissing his sudden unease as a result of déjà vu.

* * *

          Fifteen hours after they'd started, the last of the _Northwestern's_ two hundred pots splashed over the rail.[lvi] "C'mon in, guys," Sig said over the loudhailer. The blonde left the wheelhouse and met the weary deckhands in the entryway as they stripped off their waterlogged rain gear. "I've got us on a course for the top of our first string," he explained. "By the time we get up there, we'll have a good nineteen-hour soak on 'em."

          "Sounds good," Norman responded.

          "It's a good four hour run," Edgar remarked. "You want us to take watches or what?"

          "Nah," Sig answered, shaking his head, "There's no one around for miles and the weather is supposed to stay pretty decent, so I don't think it's necessary."

          "Sweet." "Cool." "Nice." Matt, Jake, and Nick responded simultaneously.

          "I'm gonna finish a few things upstairs," Sig said as he led his crew into the galley, "And then I'm gonna grab a nap myself." The eldest Hansen climbed the first two steps of the staircase that led up to the wheelhouse and paused. "Don't waste your downtime playin' with that damn Xbox,"[lvii] he advised.

          "Yeah, I don't know about the rest of you," Norman commented, "But I'm gonna get somethin' to eat and then catch some z's."

          "Sleep sounds good," Matt agreed.

          "I'll wake you guys when we're on the gear," the Captain declared over his shoulder as he ascended the staircase.   

* * *

_Sig turned around in his chair and looked out the wheelhouse door as Nick scrambled up to the top of the 30' stack. "Be careful out there, guys," he cautioned over the loudhailer, frowning as a foaming wave sloshed over the starboard rail. "It's startin' to get a little sloppy on us, so take your time and be safe." **[lviii]**_

_Roger," Norman, Jake, Matt, and Edgar answered while Nick made a 'thumbs up' gesture to show that he'd heard._

_A knot of unease formed in Sig's stomach. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling of foreboding didn’t dissipate. 'I'll feel better if I get a breath of fresh air,' Sig reasoned. He pulled the throttle back, slowing the_ Northwestern's _speed, and engaged the autopilot. Sig stood up, opened the door, and walked down the small staircase to reach the upper deck. He took a deep breath of the sea air and moved to stand by the blue-painted rail so he could watch his crew at work._

_Nick finished attaching one of the uppermost pots to the crane hook. "Ready," he called, motioning to indicate that it was okay to lower the pot down from the stack._

_"Right," Norman nodded back as the knuckle crane hummed to life._

_Sig caught a brief glimpse of the number seventy-seven buoys inside the pot and he gasped, suddenly struck with the certainty that something bad was about to happen. Seconds later, the knot on the crane hook broke loose and the eight hundred pound pot plummeted down towards the vulnerable deckhands. **[lix]** _

_"Watch out!" Edgar cried, catching sight of the free-falling pot. The deck boss courageously shoved Jake out of the pot's path, leaving himself no time to get out the way. He wrapped his arms around his head, instinctively trying to protect himself as the pot landed on top of him with an echoing, metallic crash that reverberated through Sig's ears like a rifle retort. The pot struck Edgar and punched a hole in the deck two feet deep; the cage's momentum propelled it up and over the starboard rail where it splashed into the tumultuous waters of the Bering Sea. **[lx]** _

_"Edgar!" Sig yelled as he raced to the younger man's aid. He reached the edge of the yawning hole and stared down at the blood-splattered, broken body: Edgar's skull had been completely crushed and his familiar features were almost unrecognizable under all the gore. Clinging to the futile hope that Edgar was still alive, Sig stepped forward, ready to jump into the hole, but strong hands wrapped around his upper arms and held him back. "Let me go!" Sig shouted, struggling furiously against the hands that restrained him._

_"He's gone, Sig," Matt sobbed, tears falling freely as he tried to pull the older man away._

_"There's nothing we can do for him," Norman said, chin quivering as he struggled not to give into his own grief._

_"No!" Sig raged, fighting even harder to escape and return to Edgar's side. "Let me go!" The Captain's voice cracked and the tears that had pooled in the corners of his eyes spilled over, trickling down over his face. "Let go, damn it!"_

* * *

           "Let go, damn it!" Sig shouted. He kicked at the tangled blankets that immobilized his legs and feet like an octopus, nearly falling out of his bunk as he struggled to free himself. Breathing raggedly and disoriented by the dream, the fair-haired Hansen pressed his palm against his chest, where his pounding heart threatened to punch a hole through his ribcage. Long minutes passed before the shaken sailor's pulse and breathing calmed to their regular tempos. Sig rubbed his eyes and was stunned to discover the wetness of tears on his fingertips. "Crap," he muttered, furiously drying his tear-dampened cheeks with the sleeve of his navy-blue sleep shirt. 

          The fourth generation fisherman swung his legs over the side of his bunk and stood up. "Shit," Sig swore, instinctively reaching out with his right hand and using the wall to steady himself when a sudden bout of lightheadedness threatened to send him sprawling back onto his mattress. He closed his eyes and waited for the dizziness to subside. 'Should've eaten somethin' before goin' to bed,' Sig thought, dismissing the dizzy spell. He walked to his private bathroom, pulling his sleep shirt off. 

          Sig hung his shirt on the hook attached to the back of the bathroom door and started the shower, stripping off his pajama pants and hanging them up as he waited for the water to warm. The eldest Hansen stepped into the small shower stall and tilted his face up towards the steaming spray. Sig reached blindly for the soap and thoroughly washed his face to remove any traces of the tears he'd shed in his sleep. 'Hope that'll be the end of the nightmares,' the blonde thought as he set the bar soap aside and reached for the bottle of Head & Shoulders shampoo.[lxi]

          The Captain finished his shower and wrapped his tan[lxii] bath towel around his waist. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and rubbed his chin as he contemplated shaving. 'Nah,' Sig thought, deciding the stubble didn't look scruffy enough to warrant it. After brushing his teeth and combing his hair, Sig left the bathroom and walked over to where he'd left his sea bag[lxiii] in the far corner of his stateroom. The Norwegian selected a clean pair of light-wash denim jeans, a light-blue button-down shirt, socks, and a pair of boxers before he discarded the towel, carelessly tossing it towards the bathroom where it landed half-in, half-out of the doorway.

          Once dressed, Sig left his stateroom and climbed the narrow staircase that led up to the wheelhouse. He leaned over the console, glancing at each of the screens and effortlessly interpreting the information. 'I'm gonna wake the guys and spot-check[lxiv] some of this gear on the way back to the first string,' Sig decided, unwilling to deny his growing curiosity. He altered the _Northwestern's_ course to intercept a nearby pot and re-engaged the autopilot.

          The sea-eyed sailor descended the two flights of stairs and rapped on the first cabin door. "Edgar, Norm," Sig called, opening the door and stepping into the room his two younger brothers shared.[lxv] "Light's comin' on," he warned, flipping the switch to turn on the fluorescent ceiling fixture.

          "The hell, Sig?" Edgar grumbled, glowering at Sig from under his blanket.

          "I wanna spot-check some of the pots," Sig answered unapologetically as Edgar and Norman reluctantly left the warmth and comfort of their beds.

          "Did you sleep at all?" Norman asked around a yawn.

          The image of Edgar's unmoving body returned in a split-second flashback and Sig cleared his throat as he shook off the memory. "I can't sleep 'cause I wanna know what's in these pots," he said, "And it's driving me nuts."[lxvi] The Captain turned and went to go wake Nick, Matt, and Jake.

          "Just because _he_ can't sleep…" Edgar griped, his voice slightly muffled as he pulled a clean shirt over his head.

          "C'mon, you'll feel better once you have some coffee," Norman remarked, patting Edgar sympathetically on the shoulder on his way out.

          Having roused his crew, Sig set the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot of coffee. He was retrieving some toast from the four-slice toaster when Norman walked into the galley. The others emerged from their cabins, all in various states of wakefulness, as the skipper haphazardly slathered some butter and some blackberry jam onto the toasted bread. "If you didn't grab somethin' before, you'd better get somethin' quick now," Sig advised, gesturing to the deckhands with the dirtied end of the butter knife. He stacked the toast into a small tower on a plate, grabbed his white coffee mug from where he'd left it on the countertop, and ascended the stairs.

          "I thought he said four hours," Jake yawned, glowering at the clock on the galley wall.

          "I'm just glad we got two," Nick commented, blearily rubbing his eyes.

          Matt took a huge bite of a blueberry Pop-tart that he'd retrieved from the pantry cupboard. Crumbs tumbled messily from the deckhand's lips and lodged in his beard as he remarked, "I think that two hour nap actually made me _more_ tired." He chewed briefly and then washed the pastry down with a slurp of coffee.

          "Don't let Sig hear you say that," Norman cautioned as he poured a large portion of Honey Nut Cheerios into a bowl, "Or he'll have us pulling all-nighters."

          "That'd suck," Jake sighed as he swiped one of the Pop-tarts from the package Matt had opened.

          "Hey," Matt exclaimed, "Get your own, Scavenger!"

          The youngest deckhand took a big bite and then held the half-eaten toaster pastry out to the older fisherman. "You still want it?" Jake asked, cheeks bulging as he chewed.

          "Mine!" Matt declared, opening his mouth wide and biting into the remaining half in Jake's hand.

          "Ugh, dude!" Jake exclaimed, relinquishing possession of the pastry.

          "What?" Matt questioned, swallowing his mouthful. "You offered it to me."

          "Yeah, but I didn't think you'd want it after I ate off of it," Jake replied.

          "You _have_ seen the state of Matt's coffee mug, right?"[lxvii] Nick asked. "I don't think he's particularly concerned about germs."

          "That thing is pretty vile," Edgar said as he filled his cup to the brim with steaming coffee. "And that's comin' from a guy who bites the head off a herring at the start of every season." The deck boss took a drink from his mug, wincing when the beverage burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth. " _Hot_!" he hissed.

          "Hmph," Matt huffed in mock-offense, "My mug is perfectly clean."

          "Dude," Edgar laughed, "That thing's like a Petri dish."

          "It's like a cast iron skillet," Matt retorted haughtily. "You'll lose all the seasoning if you wash it."

          "If you say so," Norman chuckled, carrying his empty cereal bowl to the sink.

          "Ten minute warning," Sig called from upstairs.

          "All right," Edgar said, "Let's hustle through these spot-checks. Maybe Sig'll let us grab a few more hours of rack time[lxviii] if we satisfy his curiosity." The deck boss shooed his underlings towards the entryway. "Go get your rain gear on."

          "We're goin', we're goin'," Matt remarked.

          Edgar considered the liquid in his coffee mug, wondering if it had cooled enough for him to drink. 'Here goes nothin',' he thought with a shrug, gulping down a mouthful of the bitter brew and wincing when the still-steaming beverage hit his heat-tender tongue. "Ow, _hot_ ," the youngest Hansen complained as he went to join the other fishermen.

* * *

           Sig stood by the knuckle crane controls on the upper deck as the first pot of the season cleared the starboard rail. "Ouch," he commented, frowning in disappointment when he saw that the pot contained only five King crabs and two codfish. 

         "Maybe the next one'll be better," Edgar remarked as he and Nick opened the cage's horizontal door.

          'It's nice you think happy thoughts, Edgar,'[lxix] Sig thought, shaking his head as he returned to his place at the helm.       

          "I sure hope so," Jake remarked as their meager catch plopped out onto the sorting table. _ **[lxx]**_

          "Maybe someone should bite the head off another herring," Matt suggested as he tossed the flopping codfish into the bait bin while Jake quickly sorted and discarded all but two of the five crabs.

          "That mean you're volunteering?" the deck boss asked.

          "Uh, no, no thanks," Matt replied. "Remember that rule for soldiers and sailors? 'Never volunteer for anything,'"[lxxi] he recited.

          "I'd do it, Boss," Jake said, "If you've got any more of those breath mints."

          "Sorry, Junior,"[lxxii] Edgar chuckled. " _Somebody_ ," he eyed Matt pointedly, "Kept helping themselves and now there aren't any left."[lxxiii]

          "Next pot's comin' up here," Sig called over the loudhailer as Nick attached the crane hook to the pot and ushered it back to the farthest corner of the deck as Norman used the knuckle crane to move it off the launcher.

          "Come on, King crab!" Edgar exclaimed as he flung the grappling hook at the buoy line. In one practiced move, he fed the line into the block,[lxxiv] casually tossing the buoy bags aside when they came near the turning machine, and ran the line up and over the tire that pushed the rope into the automatic coiler.[lxxv] Edgar returned to the rail as Matt moved to coil the shots of line and leaned over to attach the picking hook[lxxvi] to the bridle[lxxvii] so Norman could lift the pot up with the hydraulic picking crane.[lxxviii] 

         "Awe, damn it," Nick murmured as the blank[lxxix] pot was hoisted up even with the rail.

          "Shit," Sig swore up in the wheelhouse. The fair-haired Hansen sighed and grabbed the loudhailer from where it hung beside the other electronics in a neat row. "Stack it!"[lxxx]

          "Roger," the deckhands replied unenthusiastically.

          "We'll keep workin' our way up to the top of our first string and do some more spot-checks along the way," Sig continued. 'And hopefully find some crab,' he thought as he pushed the throttle ahead to increase the _Northwestern's_ speed.

* * *

          "Seven, zero, zero, two, eight, zero, one, four…" Sig scowled as he read the crab count numbers aloud. "God _damn_ it!" the sea-eyed sailor snarled, slamming his fist down on the notebook. He slumped back in his chair and agitatedly combed his fingers through his hair. 'I should've gone with my gut instinct. Screw what the frickin' survey said,'[lxxxi] he thought irritably. 'There's no sense in grinding[lxxxii] on single digits,' Sig thought, huffing out a frustrated sigh. They'd stacked their third and fourth strings and were in the process of stacking the second string, having seen nothing more substantial than single digit crab counts in _any_ of the pots; it was painfully obvious that there was no King crab to be caught where they were fishing.

          Sig absently reached for his _Northwestern_ coffee mug and grimaced in distaste when the hours-old liquid touched his tongue. 'We'll just have to move the gear to new grounds,' the Captain thought resignedly. Sig set his mug back on the wooden window ledge and plucked a cigarette from the pack he'd left beside the throttle; he stood up, lighting his cigarette as he moved towards the archive cabinet. 'Maybe I'll be inspired if I look through the old records,' Sig thought, exhaling a stream of smoke into the air as he opened the drawer.

          Smoldering cigarette clamped between his lips, Sig sifted through the cabinet's contents. 'Let's see here…' he mused as he pulled a chart out of the drawer, gentling his touch when the aged map threatened to tear in his grasp. Sig unfolded the delicate chart and spread it out on top of the cabinet, carefully running his fingertips over the folds to remove the creases in the time-yellowed paper. He squinted at the faded ink before shaking his head in defeat and retracing his steps towards the Captain's chair; Sig tapped the accumulated cigarette ashes into the ashtray and snatched his reading glasses from where he'd abandoned them next to the jog stick. _ **[lxxxiii]**_ Sig returned to the archive cabinet and slid the frameless, rectangular glasses on, bringing the words into crisp focus. 

          "Hmm," Sig hummed, thoughtfully rubbing his stubble-covered chin as he intently studied the map. "I wonder…" The eldest Hansen re-opened the drawer and selected another chart and an old logbook from when he'd first assumed captaincy of the _Northwestern_ over two decades ago. Sig laid his map beside the one his father, Sverre Hansen, had used, his eyes narrowing as he compared them; wanting to confirm his theory, he paged through the dog-eared logbook. A satisfied smile spread across his face as he re-discovered a fishing spot that had yielded record numbers of King crab in the past. "Perfect," Sig chuckled as he carefully returned the records to the archive cabinet.

'I just hope nobody else has already started fishing there,' Sig thought as he reclaimed his seat. He took a final puff off his cigarette and flicked it out the open starboard window into the Bering Sea. Sig turned in his chair, glancing out the wheelhouse door to make sure his men were away from the rail,[lxxxiv] before he pushed the throttle ahead. 'Let's go catch some crab,' Sig thought, anxious to get his gear picked up, moved, and re-set on the new grounds.

* * *

**References & Glossary of Terms:**

[i] Stern: Back of a boat or ship.

[ii] Crab "cages" or "pots" are used to catch crab; the ones Sig uses are larger than pots used by other fishermen. The pots are 7' wide on the door x 8' long on the 'tunnel' and weigh 967 pounds. (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-1) A pot costs approximately $1,000. ([www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/setting-and-hauling-pots.htm](http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/setting-and-hauling-pots.htm))

[iii] Deck: The main outdoor area of the boat where the fishing takes place; the workers are called **deckhands** and are led by the **deck boss**. (electronics.howstuffworks.com/deadliest-catch1.htm)

[iv] Knuckle crane: The hydraulic crane situated on the port side of the boat; it has five control levers and is called a "knuckle" crane because the crane arm bends in the middle like the knuckle of one's finger.(<http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/cranes-pots-and-hydraulics.htm>)

[v] Dutch Harbor, Alaska: Located 1,700 miles north of Seattle. Dutch Harbor is the number one port in the U.S. for receiving, processing, and transporting seafood around the world. (Deadliest Catch S.1-1)

[vi] "Red crab" is a species of King crab that is also known simply as Alaskan King crab; red crab and Opilio crab have always been featured on Deadliest Catch, whereas the fisheries for the other species of King crab (Blue and Bairdi) have been included in the show in more recent years.

[vii] To "throw the lines": The act of disconnecting the mooring lines that anchor a vessel to the dock.

[viii] There are two buoy "bags" in a set: A "diver bag" and a "trailer bag." (Deadliest Catch S.3-7) The buoy bags are used to mark the location of each pot and each set weighs 14 pounds. (Deadliest Catch S.4-2)

[ix] Andy recounts a story about how Captain Johnathan called him on the phone to tell him that he went "Captain on somebody's ass." (Deadliest Catch S.4-20) After neglecting to appoint someone to take weights during an offload at the processor, Andy makes two signs; one reads, "Don't make me go Captain on your ass," while the other reads, "You have five minutes to fix the problem or I'll go Captain on your ass." (Deadliest Catch S.5-10)

[x] Red King crab season starts on the same date each year: October 15. (fvnorthwestern.com)

[xi] Sig is 5'8" tall. Johnathan is 6'1" tall.

[xii] The Hillstrands' mother has made predictions based on dreams she's experienced. (Deadliest Catch S.4-1)

[xiii] Bight: In nautical terms, the word bight refers to 'loops' in the line (such as when the rope is coiled) as well as the 'middle or slack part of an extended rope.' (www.thefreedictionary.com/bight) Sailors should always stay out of the bight of the line, because anything or anyone in its path is vulnerable to damage or serious injury, which could include being pulled overboard. ([www.sail-world.com/cruising/usa/Keep-Clear-of-the-Bight-Line-for-Sailing-Safety!/109829](http://www.sail-world.com/cruising/usa/Keep-Clear-of-the-Bight-Line-for-Sailing-Safety!/109829)) 

[xiv] Edgar recalls that a piece of ice fell from the mast and it drove him "straight to the deck." (Deadliest Catch S. 4-14)

[xv] "You're all dry and warm, you know, and you've had your coffee or whatever and then *splash* you get that wave and it just hits you right in the face and you're soakin' wet." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-12)

[xvi] Keith Colburn called John "Sucker Punch Hillstrand" during an argument. (Deadliest Catch S.6-1) 

[xvii] Sig and John actually did partner up for the end of the red crab season in 2014. The season was cut short because of the government shutdown and Sig didn't want all the other boats to take over his awesome fishing spot, so he called Johnathan and formed an alliance to "checkerboard" the grounds; unlike partnerships viewers of the show have seen between other Captains, Hansen and Hillstrand respected each other and were able to maintain their friendship. (Deadliest Catch S.10-4)

[xviii] The Captains seal their commitment to the wager for the season with a 'Dutch Harbor duck fart,' which contains a mixture of Bailey's & Crown Royale. (Deadliest Catch S.5-1)

[xix] There are two styles of commercial fishing boats: Wheelhouse-forward and wheelhouse-aft. The F/V Northwestern is a house-forward style. House-forward vessels have better visibility and provide better protection from waves and weather for the crew on deck; however, it is more difficult to see the deckhands directly and the wheelhouse windows are more likely to break because the wheelhouse takes the brunt of the weather. House-aft vessels have worse navigational visibility and provide less weather protection for the crew, but the wheelhouse itself is less vulnerable and it is very easy to watch the crew and deck activity. ([www.clubnorthwestern.com/showthread.php?t=3835](http://www.clubnorthwestern.com/showthread.php?t=3835))

[xx] Boats are always referred to with the feminine pronoun. In the English language, boats are among the only inanimate objects that take a gendered pronoun, whereas most others are called it; countries and cars are also called she. The theories for doing this vary; one is because boats are traditionally given female names, typically the name of an important woman in the life of the boat's owner, such as his mother. Another theory is that ships were once dedicated to goddesses, and later to important mortal women when belief in goddesses waned. Interestingly, although male captains and sailors historically attributed the spirit of a benevolent female figure to their ships, actual women were considered very bad luck at sea. ([www.wisegeek.org/why-are-boats-called-she.htm](http://www.wisegeek.org/why-are-boats-called-she.htm))

[xxi] According to the official F/V Northwestern press release, the maximum speed that the F/V Northwestern can achieve is 12 knots. (fvnorthwestern.com/northwestern/marco-press-release-1977/) 12 knots is approximately 14 miles per hour.

[xxii] "We're a pretty speedy boat; we got the jump on most guys." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.1-8) "One of the fastest boats in the fleet, the Northwestern covers the 42 miles from St. Paul to the [Opilio crab] grounds in just under 4 hours." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.4-14)

[xxiii] It takes 24 hours to reach the red King crab grounds. (Deadliest Catch S.4-1)

[xxiv] Bait station: Area where the bait is prepared.

[xxv] Stateroom: A private cabin on a boat; it is usually larger in size than a regular cabin. Sig's stateroom is located at the base of the staircase that leads down from the wheelhouse. ([www.flickr.com/photos/bkraai/with/2723778949](http://www.flickr.com/photos/bkraai/with/2723778949))

[xxvi] Galley: Kitchen aboard a ship.

[xxvii] Cabin: A small room on a ship or boat where people sleep; Edgar called the crew cabins "staterooms" during an exclusive tour of the F/V Northwestern for the SeattleInsider back in 2008, but to avoid confusion, I will only use the term "stateroom" to refer to Sig's private quarters. ([www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/](http://www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/))

[xxviii] Head: Bathroom aboard a ship.

[xxix] Entryway: The room just off the deck where the crew keeps their raingear; it is also used for temporary tool storage and the laundry machines are located here. The floor is also covered with rubber matting, both to protect the floor and to prevent falls. (www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/entry-way-tour.htm) On the F/V Northwestern, if entering from the deck, the door straight ahead leads into the galley while a door on the left leads below to the engine room.

[xxx] "Deck floods" or "sodiums " are sodium vapor lights comparable to the lights of a football stadium; on the F/V Northwestern, two point back towards the deck while four others, situated at the top of the 35' mast, are pointed forward so the Captain can see the see ahead. The light switches that control the deck floods are located in the entryway where the rain gear is kept. ([www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/entry-way-tour.htm](http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/entry-way-tour.htm))

[xxxi] The "launcher" is a hydraulic-powered metal platform that is used to "set" or "splash" the crab pots into the ocean. The launcher is also used when retrieving a pot; once the pot has been hauled aboard, it is set on the launcher and metal hooks called "dogs" clamp down on the steel frame of the pot to keep it secured in place when the launcher is raised up to it's highest position; the pot is held vertically and shaken (via manipulation of the hydraulic controls) to dump the crab out of the cage onto the sorting table. ([www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/setting-and-hauling-pots.htm](http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/setting-and-hauling-pots.htm))                                                                                                  

[xxxii] "He's [Nick] always been the go-to guy for me […]." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-11)

[xxxiii] Sig created his own blend of coffee called: Northwestern Grind. He writes a personalized letter to potential customers: "When you’re fishing the Bering Sea, coffee isn’t a luxury, it’s a necessity. Staying alert and awake isn’t about productivity, it’s about survival. It’s not uncommon that our crew works 30 or more hours in a row—baiting pots, setting pots, pulling pots, sorting crab, and all the while floating around some of the most dangerous waters in the world. Fittingly, our crew consumes a metric shit-ton of caffeine—which is why I created Northwestern Grind. Like our crab, Northwestern Grind is the highest quality coffee nature can provide, so when you absolutely have to have a great cup of joe, leave nothing to chance and grab a cup of ours. Enjoy, Sig." (<http://www.northwesterngrind.com/>)

[xxxiv] Archive Cabinet: Cabinet in the wheelhouse that contains all the old logbooks and the Hansen family charts.

[xxxv] Starboard: The right side of the boat when facing forward.

[xxxvi] Sig reads through the suggestion box and someone, presumably Edgar, requested that the "Skipper takes more than one shower a month." (Deadliest Catch S.2-12) During a video tour of the boat, Edgar also comments that Sig thinks it's "bad luck to shower." ([www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/](http://www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/))

[xxxvii] Sig describes his priorities in descending order of importance: "Crab, weather, food… [laughs]…it's good. Oh yeah, then there's sleep; I forgot about that. That's on the bottom somewhere. I'd rather just work until my eyes pop outta my head and then sleep. You know, quite honestly, the longer you work the better I feel." (Deadliest Catch S.4-4)

[xxxviii] One of Sig's 'must have' items before going fishing is yellow post-it notes. (<http://origin-www.helium3game.com/web/deadliestcatch/theboats/northwestern/>)

[xxxix] According to Norwegian superstition, biting the head off a herring at the beginning of a fishing season brings good luck.

[xl] When Matt delays relieving Sig at the helm to take a shower instead, Sig deviously shuts off the fresh water pump; "This ain't my first rodeo, brother." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-7)

[xli] Each man aboard is expected to take his turn on "wheel watch" to ensure the boat stays on course while the Captain and/or other crewmembers are resting.

[xlii] Linus: Character from the "Peanuts" comic strip that always carried a blanket around.

[xliii] Pigpen: Character from the "Peanuts" comic strip that walked around in his own personal dust cloud. Some sailors consider saying the word "pig" to be bad luck; however, I believe this only applies when referring to the animal, not when referencing a fictional character (with that word in his name) or when speaking to someone with "pig" as part of his nickname. (Deadliest Catch S.4-21)

[xlv] Opilio crab, more commonly known as "Opies" or "snow crab," is a different species of crab featured on Deadliest Catch; the season for this fishery opens in January.

[xlvi] Edgar once likened working on deck to a ballet. (Deadliest Catch S.4-20)

[xlvii] Sig was photographed by Paul Gallegos from PR Photos at RT's Longboard Bar and Grill in San Diego, CA on June 9, 2009. In the photos, you can clearly see a pack of Camel brand cigarettes on the table in front of him. ([www.topnews.in/sig-hansen-discover-channels-deadliest-catch-after-catch-filming-san-diego-june-9-2009-2192124](http://www.topnews.in/sig-hansen-discover-channels-deadliest-catch-after-catch-filming-san-diego-june-9-2009-2192124))

[xlviii] Loudhailer: The loudspeaker that allows a Captain to address the men working on deck.

[xlix] The crew of the Northwestern drew straws, or rather zip ties, at the beginning of the 2008 King crab season; Sig, much to his chagrin, got the short one and had the bite the head off the herring. (Deadliest Catch S.5-1)

[l] "Set it [the crab pot] when you're ready. Let's get some." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-9)

[li] Each bait set-up consists of a plastic container called a "bait jar," which has holes drilled in the sides; the ground bait is put into the bait jars, while whole fish (cut down the middle so as to attract more crab) are put on a hook (usually the hook is put through the fish's eye socket); each bait set-up can weigh as much as 30 pounds. (Deadliest Catch S.3-9)

[lii] Shot: A shot is a length of rope or "line." Each shot is 100 feet long and weighs 120 pounds. (Deadliest Catch S.3-7)

[liii] GPS Plotter: A device that records the overall layout of a string of pots as well as the coordinates for each individual pot.

[liv] Keeping pots evenly spaced throughout a string makes it easier to retrieve them later. "After 36 hours without sleep […], Sig gives up his chair [to Edgar]." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.5-3) Edgar sets pots while Sig is sleeping and when they go to pull those pots Sig says, "Let's see how evenly spaced these things are now." (Deadliest Catch S.5-3)

[lv] Buzzer: A small, dime-sized button located on the Captain's work console; it emits a buzzing alarm whenever it is pushed. It is sounded whenever a pot is supposed to be launched, to encourage the deckhands to work faster/harder, and to wordlessly express a Captain's displeasure.

[lvi] The F/V Northwestern's SWL (Safe Working Load) is 200 crab pots at a time. (Deadliest Catch S.3-1) It takes almost 15 hours to drop all 200 pots. (Deadliest Catch S.1-2) Beginning in 2006, Sig started fishing 300 pots, which no one had ever tried before; this required him to take 152 pots on the first trip and then detour to an underwater storage area to retrieve the other 148 pots. (Deadliest Catch S.3-1)

[lvii] During an exclusive video tour of the F/V Northwestern, Sig says that his crew is "playin' Xbox all the time." ([www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/](http://www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/))

[lviii] "Take your time and be safe." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-1)

[lix] This scenario actually happened on the F/V Kodiak; luckily, no one was injured. (Deadliest Catch S.6-1) There was also a similar incident on the F/V Seabrooke. (Deadliest Catch S.8-11)

[lx] In an interview with the Huffington Post, Sig describes a situation where the line snapped while the crane was moving the pot it was attached to; I have taken elements from his story and used them in my fictional scenario. The full interview can be found at the following website: [www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/09/deadliest-catch-captain-sig_n_1657830.html](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/09/deadliest-catch-captain-sig_n_1657830.html)

[lxi] During a video tour of the F/V Northwestern, a bottle of Head & Shoulders shampoo can be seen in Sig's private washroom. ([www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/](http://www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/))

[lxii] During the video tour of the F/V Northwestern, you can see that a tan towel is hung up on the towel bar in Sig's private washroom. ([www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/](http://www.kirotv.com/news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/))

[lxiii] During a TV special called "Luckiest Catch" with Mike Ferreri from KOMO TV Sig says, "Suitcases on this boat is a definite no-no. That's like voodoo number one for me, always has been. I think that just came because as a kid, you know, my grandfather kinda embedded that into my head, and, you know, you're a sailor, you have a _sea bag_. You don't bring a suitcase on a boat; save it for an airplane." (www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ytgbu03OhIg) It's bad luck to bring a suitcase on board.

[lxiv] "Spot-check is so you can cry or go fuck yeah!" (Andy Hillstrand, Deadliest Catch S.5-2)

[lxv] According to Edgar, there are two cabins for the deckhands; one sleeps two and the other sleeps four. It is my theory that Edgar and Norman share one cabin while Jake, Matt, and Nick share the other.

[lxvi] "I can't sleep 'cause I wanna know what's in these pots and it's driving me nuts…and that's the truth." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-4) "I can't sleep because I wanna know what's in these pots." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-8)

[lxvii] In one of the earlier seasons of Deadliest Catch, Matt showcases his coffee mug that has "fish scales" and other miscellaneous substances on it since he doesn't wash it.

[lxviii] Rack Time: Time for sleep in one's 'rack' or bunk.

[lxix] "It's nice you think happy thoughts, Edgar." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.1-8)

[lxx] Sorting Table: A large metal table that can be moved towards and away from the launcher via hydraulics; this is where the crab from the pots is sorted; "legal" crab (adult males that measure 6.5" across at the widest point) go into the holding tanks, but females and juveniles are dumped overboard via the "bycatch chute." (Deadliest Catch S.4-10)

[lxxi] "On a crab boat, never volunteer for anything." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.2-2)

[lxxii] Sig gave Jake the "Junior" nickname. (Deadliest Catch S.4-1) (Deadliest Catch S.5-14) It stands to reason that it would also be used by other members of the crew.

[lxxiii] "Edgar and Matt have been friends since they were 12 years old." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.7-8) It seems plausible that, despite technically being boss and subordinate on the boat, Matt would take certain liberties with Edgar's mints since they've been such close friends for so many years.

[lxxiv] Block: A hydraulically operated machine that hauls the pot up from the ocean floor. The block is suspended from a boom, which swings in (towards the deck of the boat) and out (over the starboard rail where it hangs over the water); it can also be raised or lowered. A deckhand puts the line into this device so the rope gets pinched by the two metal "shims," and, as the machine turns, the line is pulled up and over until it is kicked out by the "knife" where it goes under a small wheel that spins like a pulley. From there, the line is led over to another machine, where it passes up and over a rubber tire that forces the line into the automatic coiler. ([www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/setting-and-hauling-pots.htm](http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/setting-and-hauling-pots.htm))

[lxxv] Automatic Coiler: A machine that looks similar to a metal barrel or an oil drum. The line from the block passes up and over a rubber tire, which forces the rope into the coiler; a deckhand stands beside the coiler and coils the line, using the circular walls to keep the shots neat. After the coiling process is complete, the deckhand opens the coiler door and removes the shots. ([www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/setting-and-hauling-pots.htm](http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/setting-and-hauling-pots.htm))

[lxxvi] Picking Hook: The hook on the end of a rope that is attached to the "picking crane." The picking hook weighs 12 pounds. (Deadliest Catch S.4-8)

[lxxvii] Bridle: The rope that connects the pot to the buoy bags.

[lxxviii] Picking crane: The picking crane, otherwise known as the hydraulic winch, is used to haul pots over the rail. (Deadliest Catch S.4-8)

[lxxix] "Blanks" are pots that contain no crab.

[lxxx] "Stack it [the string]!" (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-2)

[lxxxi] An interviewer asked, "What do you look for in an area that would make it a spot you would set pots?" Sig answered, "I determine where I'm going to fish for the next year as soon as my season is finished. So in other words, I'm pre-planning my season from what I saw the season prior, and I think about it all year. There are scientific surveys that are done in the summertime. They help in deciding where you may like to start. But for the most part, it's your gut instinct and if you stick to it, seems to me you always come up a winner." ([www.helium3game.com/web/deadliestcatch/interviews/sighansen/](http://www.helium3game.com/web/deadliestcatch/interviews/sighansen/))

[lxxxii] "If you can't find 'em, grind 'em," is a phrase that appears on officially licensed F/V Northwestern merchandise. (www.cafepress.com/nw1.440338271) "Grinding" consists of hard, monotonous work, which often means the crew must set, haul, and re-set the pots to catch below average or even single digit numbers of crab.

[lxxxiii] Jog stick: A device located on the Captain's console that is used to control the rudder to steer the boat.

[lxxxiv] While letting Edgar log some hours at the helm, Sig says, "Now you could just blast on it [the throttle] if you wanted to. As soon as you see 'em get off the rail, you can do anything." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-6)

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed the first chapter of my story. Please review and/or leave kudos!
> 
> (This story has been cross-posted on ff.net.)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the red crab season, Sig begins to suffer from horrific nightmares. As the Captain struggles to cope with the additional stress, he wonders if his ominous dreams are a sign that he's losing his sanity or if the nightmares are forewarning him of danger in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. I adore Sig and the crew of the F/V Northwestern and I mean no disrespect towards them or anyone else who appears on the show by writing this story.
> 
> Author's Note: Sig, Edgar, and Norman all speak fluent Norwegian; they learned that language first since their Norwegian parents (Snefryd and Sverre Hansen) immigrated to the United States and spoke it almost exclusively at home. (www.digplanet.com/wiki/Sig_Hansen) I do not speak Norwegian, so the translation in this chapter was done by translate.google.com.

         Nearly thirty-one hours after Sig had spot-checked the first pot, the _Northwestern_ finally arrived on her new fishing grounds. 'Could've been here sooner if not for that frickin' hose,' Sig thought, frustrated that they'd lost hours of valuable time[i] because they'd first had to find and then fix a leak in one of the hydraulic hoses. He removed his reading glasses and wearily rubbed his eyes before setting the spectacles down on the console. Sig glanced at the live camera feed from the deck and frowned when he saw the deckhands' slow pace. 

          Between the disheartening duty of hauling blanks and single digits,[ii] the time-consuming task of locating and repairing the hydraulic leak, the nerve-wracking[iii] necessity of stacking all two hundred pots, and the prolonged hours out on deck, it was hardly a surprise that the crew's morale had deteriorated; hell, if Sig was honest, he'd been feeling dispirited too, but now he was irritated by the deckhands' apathetic attitudes. 

          "When I wanna go fast, they go slow,"[iv] Sig grumbled as he reached for his cigarettes. Another glance at the monitor showed Jake and Edgar yawning in quick succession. "Poor things,"[v] Sig scoffed, sliding the filtered end between his lips and lighting the cigarette with the flame from his lighter. "They had a five hour nap while I watched the boat on the run up here.[vi] I've been workin' non-stop for the last thirty frickin' hours, but you don't see me draggin' my feet or cryin' about how tired _I_ am…." Deciding to give his lagging crew a little pep talk, Sig grabbed the loudhailer. "I know we've had a rough start," he began, "But let's get the chains off the stack, get the gear in the water, and catch some crab!"

          "Roger!" the deckhands responded.

          "Yes, sir!" Edgar answered, injecting equal parts sarcasm and forced enthusiasm into his voice as he gave the wheelhouse a mock-salute.

          "Set 'em whenever you're ready," Sig said, purposefully ignoring his brother's patronizing tone. "We'll just blast 'em off here."[vii] Sig lowered the loudhailer and swallowed against a suddenly tight throat as a memory from one of his nightmares flashed before his eyes: _The knot on the crane hook slipped loose, sending the pot into a free-fall on a collision course with the deckhands._

          Sig cleared his throat and lifted the loudhailer towards his mouth. "Mavar?" he called as Nick scrambled up on top of the towering stack. "Make sure those knots are secure on the crane hook before you clear the pots to come off the stack."

          Nick waved to acknowledge the Captain's command. 'We've never had a problem with my knots before,' he mused as he knelt down and began to unlace the pot ties that bound the crab cage to the others in the stack. 'But, I guess it never hurts to re-check,' Nick thought as he attached the pot to the crane hook. 'Don't wanna get complacent.'[viii] Nick double-checked the knot before he motioned for Norman to lower the pot down to deck level.

* * *

          Seventeen hours later, the last pot of the final string splashed over the starboard rail. "Good job," Sig said over the loudhailer, pleased and proud of how his crew had stepped up their game to get all two hundred pots baited and set. The fair-haired Hansen rested his chin in the palm of his left hand as he studied the plotter. 'I've got half a mind to run over and spot-check some pots in that Eastern string,' he thought.        

          Sig shifted his attention to the screen that showed the five deckhands working to clean and secure the deck. 'They might get pretty snippy if I delay their break,' Sig thought, realizing it was about two in the morning. 'But, I'm just gonna plug my ears.[ix] I got 'em trained to suffer.'[x] The fourth generation fisherman grabbed the loudhailer to inform his crew. "All right," he began, "I'm gonna head East here and we'll spot-check a couple pots, okay? So just sit tight." 

          "Roger!" "Okay!" "Great…" various voices called simultaneously as the deckhands moved towards the alcove just outside the entryway door.[xi] Nick and Edgar sat down in the collapsible quad chairs, Jake sat on an overturned ten-gallon pail, Norman leaned against the doorframe, and Matt sat down on the deck with his back to the wall.

          "I'm kinda curious to see what's in those pots," Nick commented.

          "Yeah, me too," Jake agreed. "I just wish we could've taken a break in between." 

          "Suck it up, Junior," Edgar interjected unsympathetically. "We've been workin' just as long and as hard as you, but you don't hear us complainin'."

          "I'm not complaining," Anderson argued. "I'm just saying that it would've been nice, that's all."

          "Too bad you can't fall asleep at the drop of a hat like Matt," Norman commented as he tugged off his glove and put a pinch of Copenhagen[xii] into his mouth.

          "This is _perfect_ ," Edgar remarked gleefully, brown eyes twinkling with mischief as he eyed the snoring deckhand. "Somebody go get me a Sharpie."

          "I'll get one," Jake volunteered. He returned a few minutes later with a permanent marker and handed it to the deck boss.

          "You're not gonna draw something lewd are you?" Nick asked, raising a disapproving eyebrow as Edgar uncapped the marker.

          "I wouldn't do that,"[xiii] the youngest Hansen deadpanned, earning a snort of skepticism and a choked-back chuckle from Norman and Jake respectively. 

          "Ooh, I know," Jake chuckled, "You should draw an anchor on his forehead." He pushed the bill of his cap up and indicated the spot between his eyebrows.

          "Oh, like this?" Edgar laughed as he extended the tip of the uncapped marker towards the bared skin.

          "Not me, man!" Jake exclaimed, trying to dodge out of the deck boss's reach and earning a crooked black stripe down the bridge of his nose for his efforts. "Shit," he swore, rubbing furiously at the mark in an unsuccessful attempt to remove it. "That's permanent ink, dude," Jake complained.

          "A couple Bering Sea baths and it'll come off," Nick chortled, grinning at his nephew.

          "Nail polish remover,"[xiv] Norman suggested. The hydraulics expert self-consciously shifted his weight from foot to foot when Edgar, Jake, and Nick simultaneously turned to stare at him. "What?" he asked defensively.

          "Nail polish remover?" Edgar asked, eying his older brother with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. He pointed at Norman's rubber rain boots. "Take those off."

          "What for?" Norman queried, forehead creasing with confusion.

          "So I can see what color you painted your toenails," the deck boss replied with a smirk.

          "Cajun Shrimp?"[xv] Nick said, gazing contemplatively down at Norman's booted feet.

          "Flashbulb Fuchsia?"[xvi] Jake snickered.

          Up in the wheelhouse, Sig had overheard the conversation via the loudhailer and wanted to join the good-natured teasing. "Opie Red,"[xvii] he declared over the hailer, startling Edgar, Nick, Jake, and Norman with his unexpected contribution to their conversation.

          Norman incredulously regarded his fellow deckhands, both eyebrows rising to previously unconquered heights. "You're all insane," the hydraulics expert decided, slowly shaking his head. He warily eyed his younger brother, who was hunched over in his red lawn chair, shoulders shaking like a fault line. "What's the matter with you?"

          Edgar burst out laughing, tears of mirth pooling in the corners of his dark-brown eyes. "Those…Those are _actual_ colors, aren't they?" he wheezed, wrapping his arm around his laugh-sore ribs.        

          "My wife-" "My sisters-"[xviii] Nick and Jake simultaneously began, making Edgar laugh even harder.

          The deck boss unthinkingly reached up to wipe the laughter-induced tears off his face, forgetting the uncapped Sharpie in his hand and inadvertently drawing a wide stripe across his cheek. 'Awe, damn it,' Edgar thought, before deciding to embrace his mistake. He shrugged and purposefully drew a matching stripe across his other cheek. "War paint!" Edgar declared, brandishing the marker.

          "We should all wear it," Jake remarked, no longer upset about the ink on his own face.

          "Norm's next," Edgar decided, walking over to his reclusive sibling. "C'mon," he cajoled, "A little ink never hurt anybody."

          "What about ink poisoning?" Norman snarked. 

          "That's only if you ingest it," Edgar argued. "Now come on," he continued, knowing it would boost morale if everyone joined in.

          "You're gonna keep bugging me about this 'til I give in, aren't you?"

          "Yep," Edgar agreed.

          "Fine," Norman capitulated, "But I don't want that marker anywhere near my face."

          "Where then?" Edgar asked as Jake began persuading his uncle to join the fun. 

          "Put it here," Norman replied, pulling off his glove and indicating the back of his hand. "I don't care what you draw as long as it's not crass." 

          "Sweet," Edgar grinned. He glanced at the Hansen brothers' crest painted on the wall by the orange life ring and easily replicated the emblem on Norman's skin. "There!" Edgar proclaimed, stepping back to admire his work. 

          "Cool," Jake said as Norman tugged his blue rubber glove back on. "C'mon, Uncle Nick, let Edgar draw somethin' on you." 

          "Yeah, Mavar," Edgar commented. "Where's your team spirit?"

          "Oh, all right," Nick assented, prompting a cheer from Jake and a maniacal laugh from Edgar.

          The noise roused Matt from his impromptu nap. The deckhand blinked, watching confusedly as Nick removed his rain jacket, pushed the sleeve of his sweatshirt up to the crook of his elbow, and offered his bared arm to Edgar. "Uh, guys? What're you doin'?" Matt asked as the deck boss painstakingly wrote 'F/V Northwestern' down the length of Mavar's inner forearm with a Sharpie marker.

          "It started as a prank," Norman explained, "But it snowballed into some bizarre show of solidarity."

          "You have to get inked too, Matt," Jake informed the older fisherman as Edgar finished the script on Nick's skin with a flourish.

          "Yeah, I'm game," Matt agreed. He already had several tattoos, so he wasn't bothered by a little Sharpie ink.

          "What should I draw?" Edgar asked as Matt pulled the collar of his hooded Helly Hansen[xix] sweatshirt aside and pointed to the side of his neck.

          "I like Jake's anchor idea," Nick remarked.

          "Works for me," Matt said with a shrug.

          "All right," Edgar replied, "One anchor comin' right up." He set the tip of the marker against Matt's skin and quickly drew a large anchor. "Done!" the deck boss declared, capping the Sharpie.

          "How's it look?" Matt asked as he showed the mark to the others.

          Jake whistled with appreciation as he examined the makeshift tattoo. "That doesn't look half bad."

          "I might have to bring you along the next time I decide to get a tattoo," Matt said.

          "Sure," Edgar chuckled, "I'd go along for moral support or whatever."

          "You ever think about getting one, Boss?" Jake asked curiously.

          "What, a tattoo?" Edgar clarified. "Man, my wife would kill me," he laughed. "What about you, Junior? You gonna get inked?"

          "It'd be kinda cool," Jake said thoughtfully.

          "You had better clear that with your mom first," Nick advised his nephew, causing Jake to blush and the others to laugh.

          "All right," Sig's voice came over the loudhailer, "First pot's comin' up here."

          "Well, guess that means break time's over," Matt observed, levering himself to his feet.

          The deckhands returned to work, eager to see if Sig's new fishing spot would pay off. Nick picked up the grappling hook and threw it, aiming for the bright buoy bag that bobbed on the surface of the dark water. He efficiently fed the line into the block before passing the rope to Jake so his nephew could string the rope into the Marco King coiler. Nick stepped back over to the rail and took the picking hook in hand, pausing briefly when he saw that Sig was standing near the blue-painted railing on the upper deck.

          "Here she comes!" Edgar announced, leaning over the starboard rail to get a glimpse of the pot as it broke the surface. "Yeah~!" he cheered. 

          "Oh it looks _good_!" Nick exclaimed as he attached the picking hook.

          "Nice," Norman said appreciatively.

          "We'll take that all day long!" Matt declared as the picking crane hoisted the pot up over the rail.

          "There's gotta be sixteen keepers in there!" Jake remarked, grinning widely.

          "Not bad for a ten hour soak,"[xx] Sig chuckled as the crab spilled out onto the sorting table. "Get that set back,"[xxi] he ordered, "And we'll run further up the string and check a couple more."

          "Roger!" the deckhands responded.

* * *

          Two hours later, the deckhands had spot-checked several more pots and had found a higher-than-average number of keepers in each one. Confident that he was now dialed in on the crab, Sig altered the _Northwestern's_ course towards his first string. He stood up to go tell his crew that they could come inside and take a break, but swayed when a wave of fatigue washed over him. "Shit," Sig swore, grabbing hold of his chair to steady himself.

          Recovering from the dizzy spell, the eldest Hansen released his white-knuckled grip on the leather backrest and crossed the short distance to the wheelhouse door. Sig made it halfway down the small flight of steel steps before another rush of lightheadedness struck, causing him to stumble down the last two stairs. He unsteadily approached the blue-painted railing, blinking his blurred vision back into focus. 

         "What's up, Sig?" Matt called when he noticed the Captain's presence. 

          The vertigo subsided and Sig realized that all five deckhands were expectantly looking up at him. "Once you guys get this pot re-set, you can head in and take a break," he said, fervently hoping that no one had seen how close he'd come to passing out. 

          "Sleep!" "Food!" Matt and Jake cheered, high-fiving each other. 

          "A break would be nice," Norman remarked, smothering a yawn in the sleeve of his orange rain jacket as Edgar and Nick nodded their agreement. 

          'We've worked back-to-back twenty hour shifts and got five hours of rest in between,' Nick thought, 'But Sig watched the boat on the trip to the new fishing grounds.' His eyes widened as he came to a startling realization. 'Sig's been awake for at _least_ forty-eight hours!' Nick squinted against the glare from deck floods: Sig's skin looked like pale wax under the bright sodium vapor lights and the dark shadows that encircled his eyes made him look downright cadaverous. Nick glanced at the others, but no one else had noticed Sig's exhaustion. 'I almost didn't realize it either,' he thought, feeling ashamed. Nick cleared his throat as Sig turned away from the rail and headed back towards the wheelhouse. "What d'you wanna do about watches?"

          'I guess I should've asked about that,' Edgar mused. Much to his chagrin, he'd been so excited to take a break that he'd neglected to ask if his brother needed someone to substitute for him at the helm.

          "I'll take the first watch while you guys get some sleep," Sig answered, wearily combing his fingers through his feathered hair.[xxii]

          "You sure?" Nick asked uncertainly.

          "Yeah, I'll be fine 'til someone comes to relieve me," the Captain replied. "Just do me a favor and bring me a cup of coffee before you hit the rack."

          "Okay, I can do that," Edgar agreed, watching as the shorter[xxiii] man returned to the wheelhouse. 

* * *

          Sig peered down at the face of his Gold Nugget[xxiv] watch. 'I've been awake for over fifty hours,'[xxv] he realized dazedly. The fair-haired fisherman made a slight course adjustment and leaned back in his seat. "Fuck I'm tired,"[xxvi] Sig muttered as he rubbed his burning eyes. He picked up his _Northwestern_ coffee mug and downed the last of the stone-cold liquid; caffeine, nicotine, and chocolate[xxvii] wouldn't help him stay awake much longer.

          Still grasping the empty cup, he shifted his attention to the front windows and gazed out at the rolling sea, blinking blearily as he watched the waves break over thebow.[xxviii] The hypnotizing sea spray splashing against the windowpanes soon had the exhausted man entranced. Despite his efforts to stay awake, Sig slumped in his chair and his eyes slipped shut; the coffee mug tumbled from his slack fingers and rolled across the carpeted floor.         

_Sig frowned as a cocoon of thick fog swallowed the_ Northwestern _whole. 'I don't like the looks of this,' he thought. An ominous, looming shadow suddenly appeared within the shapeless ash-colored mist; fearing a collision with another vessel, Sig tried to evade the fast-approaching shadow. He swore in a creative mix of English and Norwegian, realizing that the shadow-enshrouded beast was actually a massive wave._

_A heartbeat later, the wave smashed into the wheelhouse, simultaneously shattering all the windows and flooding the bridge deck with frigid seawater. Sig ducked and tried to protect himself from the flying glass, but the sharp shards easily tore through the fabric of his shirt and sliced into his skin. With each new cut, split-second images flashed before Sig's eyes: A falling crab pot, a bright orange buoy bag, a coffin, blood staining his hands, and a bruised and bloody face that flashed by too fast for Sig to identify…._

_Overwhelmed by the onslaught, Sig lost his balance and fell, slamming his right shoulder against the edge of the console. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the disconcerting montage, but the disjointed visions escalated, coming faster and faster until they were nothing more than a whirling kaleidoscope of colors…._

          Sig's sea-blue eyes snapped open as he awoke with a sharply indrawn breath. " _Fuck_ ," the fair-haired sailor swore, startled to discover that he was lying on the floor in narrow space between the Captain's chair and the console. 'Must've fallen when I nodded off,' he thought. Sig re-seated himself, rubbing his throbbing shoulder before reaching up to turn on the overhead light.

          "Frickin' nightmares," Sig muttered, shading his eyes against the glare of the incandescent bulb. He reached for the nearly empty pack of Camels next to the jog stick, but paused when he heard Edgar's familiar footfalls on the stairs. 'Must be time for Edgar's watch.' Sig slid the cigarettes into the pocket of his light-blue, button-down shirt. 'If Edgar would've come a couple minutes earlier, he'd've found me on the floor,' Sig thought, grateful to have avoided that embarrassing scenario.

          "How's it goin'?" Edgar asked. He was a few minutes late for his watch; scrubbing the Sharpie ink off his face had taken longer than he'd thought it would. The deck boss did a double take when Sig met his gaze with bloodshot blue eyes. 'He looks like _crap_!' Aside from the dark shadows under his eyes, Sig's face was shockingly pale. 'Stress, sickness, or a combination of both…?' Edgar wondered.

          "It's been pretty quiet," Sig answered, unaware of Edgar's alarmed observations. "Not a lot of radio chatter and no mechanical problems or anything," he continued as he absently rubbed his aching right shoulder. "Hell, even the weather has stayed relatively calm."

          Edgar stepped forward to relieve his older brother at the helm, but paused when he encountered something on the floor with his sock-covered toe. Focused on retrieving the fallen object, Edgar missed how Sig swayed upon standing, exhaustion threatening to send him sprawling back into his chair. The brunette's forehead wrinkled in confusion as he plucked Sig's favorite coffee cup off the carpet. "You lose somethin'?" he queried, holding the mug aloft as he straightened back up to his full height.

          "Oh, yeah," Sig replied as he circled clockwise around the Captain's chair, giving Edgar room to take his place at the wheel. "I wondered-" he yawned, "-where that went." He reached out to take the mug from his brother's hand and frowned when he had to try twice before he was able to grasp the cup successfully. Sig rubbed his gritty eyes and shuffled towards the stairs. "Who's takin' watch after you?"

          "Norm volunteered," Edgar answered as he settled into the plush leather chair. 

          "Okay," Sig responded. He paused at the top of the narrow stairway as his vision tunneled alarmingly. 'Shit,' Sig swore silently, blinking repeatedly to clear the encroaching black shadows from the edges of his vision. The vertigo made it seem like he was standing at the top of Mount Everest and he didn't want to lose his balance and tumble over the precipice. 

          'Looks like he's fallin' asleep on his feet,' Edgar mused, worriedly eyeing Sig, who stood at the top of the stairs. The deck boss cleared his throat. "Thought you were goin' to bed?" 

          The dizzy spell passed and Sig breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. "I am," Sig answered, glancing quickly at the relief skipper before returning his attention to the obstacle in front of him. He distrustfully eyed the staircase before shaking his head. Sig took a deep breath, hoping that his equilibrium would stay steady so he wouldn't topple head over heels. "'Night," he muttered as he took the first step of the daunting journey down to his stateroom.         

          "Goodnight," Edgar called, watching his sleep-deprived sibling disappear down the stairs before reaching up and switching off the overhead light.

* * *

          _Sig glanced at live feed from the deck camera and smiled when he saw his crew hard at work. "Next pot's comin' up," he called over the loudhailer as he skillfully steered the_ Northwestern _towards the set of bobbing buoys bags._

_"I see it," Nick answered, approaching the rail with the grappling hook. He caught the line of the trailer buoy on the first toss and efficiently fed the shot into the block. Nick tossed the buoys aside, so they'd land near Jake's feet, as Matt fed the line into the automatic coiler. The block hoisted the crab pot up from the depths of the Bering Sea until it hung just below the starboard rail. Nick reached down and attached the picking hook to the bridle so Norman could bring it aboard with the winch._

_"Number seventy-seven," Jake remarked as he corralled the buoys._

_"Double the luck," Edgar laughed as the picking crane lifted the pot. The deck boss whistled appreciatively when he saw how much King crab filled the pot. He helped Nick spin the cage so it would be right side up when set down on the launcher. "Bring her up, Norman."_

_Sig's stomach clenched and cold sweat beaded on his skin as a sickening flash of foreboding struck him. He watched helplessly as the hydraulic winch lifted the pot higher into the air_ _The crab cage swung like a pendulum above the launcher and the sorting table, and time slowed to a crawl as the bridle snapped; the eight hundred pound pot slammed into Edgar as the deck boss tried to dodge out of the way, picking him up off his feet and throwing him roughly aside. The pot cartwheeled across the deck and slammed into the _port_ side shelter deck **[xxxi]** before crashing down and laying flat._

_The wheelhouse door banged against the side of the boat, shattering the windowpane as Sig abandoned the bridge. "Edgar!" he yelled, bypassing the six rungs on the vertical ladder and descending to the lower deck by griping the handrails like a firemen's pole and sliding down; in a rush to reach his brother, Sig ignored the friction burns on his unprotected palms and the jarring pain from his right ankle as he landed wrong. "Edgar!" Sig shouted, circumnavigating the sorting table and dropping to his knees beside his brother. "Answer me!" he demanded, throat tight as he voiced the half-plea, half-prayer. Willfully steadying his shaking hands, Sig gently touched Edgar's neck in search of a pulse. Vennligst, **[xxxii]**" he whispered, slipping into his first language as his fingertips found nothing but displaced vertebrae and thick trails of blood from a heart no longer beating. _

* * *

          "Vennligst…." The anguished whisper passed Sig's lips as he jolted awake in his bunk aboard the _Northwestern_. He fumbled for the light above his bed, eager to banish the lingering nightmare by illuminating the room; seconds later, the light clicked on to reveal the familiar wood paneling and the gray-painted walls of his stateroom. " _God_ ," Sig gasped breathlessly, gripping the fabric of his navy-blue sleep shirt with white-knuckled fingers as his racing heart gradually slowed to resume its normal rhythm.

          Sig pushed the tangled bedding aside and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, closing his eyes against a rush of lightheadedness. He sat still for a moment, bare feet flat against the floor and proud shoulders bowed with the weight of Captaincy; as the Captain, it was his responsibility to keep his crew, his seafaring family, safe.[xxxiii] Scenes from his dream began to replay against the darkened screen of his closed eyelids and Sig snapped his eyes open to escape them. He shook his head in an attempt to further dispel the images and stood up. Sig strode across his stateroom into his private bathroom, stripping off his sweat-drenched shirt as he walked.

          The fourth generation fisherman turned on the shower and finished disrobing as he waited for the water to warm. Sig scowled as he caught sight of his wraith-like reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet over the sink. He reached up to touch the dark smudges that accentuated his bloodshot blue eyes. Shaking his head, Sig turned away from the mirror and stepped into the shower stall. The spray flattened his feathered hair and Sig efficiently worked the quarter-sized dollop of shampoo into a thick, bubbly lather atop his head. 'A shower, shave, a smoke, and some coffee and I'll be ready to get back to work,' Sig thought, tipping his head back to rinse out the soap.

* * *

            The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and the sound of near-silent footsteps alerted Edgar to the fact that someone else aboard the _Northwestern_ was awake. 'That's odd,' he mused, twisting in the Captain's chair so he could see the vintage mariner's clock by the wheelhouse door. 'My watch isn't over for another hour yet.' Edgar craned his neck, curious to see who was coming to the wheelhouse. 'Maybe Norman's gonna take over early,' he mused hopefully. 

          "Anybody awake up here?" Sig called quietly. 

          "What're you doin' up?" Edgar asked incredulously as his blonde-haired brother appeared. 'Sig is the last person I expected to be awake,' he thought. 'Especially since he was on the verge of fallin' asleep when I relieved him an hour ago.' 

"Thought you might like some coffee," Sig said, sidestepping Edgar's question. 

          "Thanks," Edgar replied, gratefully accepting the proffered beverage. "You, uh, want me to move?" he queried as Sig came to stand behind his chair. 

          "Nah," Sig answered as he casually rested his right hand on the headrest. He took a sip from his white mug and idly tapped his fingers against the black leather, causing the diamonds in his gold, rectangle-faced ring to glimmer prettily in the faint light of the computer screens. "I sit in that chair for thirty,[xxxiv] thirty-four,[xxxv] forty,[xxxvi] forty-eight hours[xxxvii] at a stretch," the Captain continued, "It feels good to stand awhile."

          "Suit yourself," Edgar remarked with a shrug. In a habitual move to release the tension in his neck, he tilted his head from side to side to realign the vertebrae.

          The grotesque clicks echoed loudly in the otherwise silent wheelhouse, brutally reminding Sig of _pressing his fingertips to the side of his brother's broken neck and confirming his worst fear, that Edgar was…_.The black coffee suddenly tasted rancid in Sig's mouth, but he forced himself to swallow it. Sig inhaled deeply through his nose and shakily expelled the breath out through his mouth; he swallowed thickly, battling back the nausea brought on by the nightmare he'd endured.

          The protesting creak of leather and the sound of an unsteady exhalation drew Edgar's attention away from the radar. He shifted to regard his brother: Sig gripped the headrest hard enough to scar the smooth leather with his fingernails and all the color had drained from his face. Afraid that his brother was about to pass out, Edgar set his coffee cup aside and got to his feet; he grasped Sig's upper arms and guided the shorter Norwegian into the vacant chair. "Jesus Christ, Sig!" Edgar exclaimed. "Sit down before you fall down!" He reached up and switched on the overhead light, squinting against the sudden brightness.

          Sig startled, jarred back to reality as Edgar manhandled him into the Captain's chair. "I'm fine," he protested. Sig discarded his mostly-full coffee cup on the window ledge and habitually reached for the cigarettes that resided in the front pocket of his long-sleeved, navy-blue polo shirt. 

          "Bullshit," Edgar argued. He raised a single eyebrow and gazed pointedly at Sig's shaking hands as Sig selected a cigarette and tucked it between his lips. "What's wrong?" he asked, forehead creasing with concern as his brother struggled with the cigarette lighter. 

          After four failed attempts, Sig successfully lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. He held the smoke in his lungs as he composed himself, banishing the nightmare to the back of his mind and forcing the trembling in his hands to subside. The fair-haired fisherman exhaled a stream of blue-white smoke before meeting Edgar's eyes. "It's nothing." 

          Edgar frowned, clearly unconvinced. Sig's reticence wasn't a surprise; like their father, Sverre Hansen, Sig rarely shared his private thoughts, but Edgar still felt slighted by Sig's refusal to confide in him. He huffed out a frustrated sigh. Edgar knew from past experience that no amount of pestering would make his stubborn older brother talk if he didn't want to; if he continued to pressure Sig for an explanation, the other man would undoubtedly get angry and Edgar didn't want to instigate a screaming match. "I'm grateful for the company," he began, "But you look like you could use a little more rack time."

          Sig opened his mouth to disagree, but his body betrayed him by yawning. 'Damn it,' he cursed silently. Less than an hour of nightmare-riddled sleep wasn't nearly enough to make up for the fifty-odd hours he'd worked. "Yeah, you're right," Sig said, surprising Edgar with his admission. He levered his weary body up out of his chair and gestured for Edgar to take his place at the helm.

          Sig stepped over to the wheelhouse door, resting his hand on the latch as he took a final puff of his cigarette; he briefly opened the door and tossed the butt outside. Sig pulled the door closed and walked wearily to the staircase, but hesitated at the top, reluctant to go back to bed and endure another nightmare. "You know," he said, running his hand through his hair, "I think I'll ride shotgun 'til the caffeine and nicotine wear off."

          "Suit yourself," Edgar replied dubiously as Sig walked to the far side of the wheelhouse, plopped down into the Co-Captain's chair, and propped his feet up near the port side driving station. Once settled, he gazed out the window, watching the waves break over the _Northwestern's_ bow. A few minutes later, Sig's eyes slipped shut and his head lolled to the side as the rhythmic rocking of the boat lulled the exhausted Captain to sleep.

* * *

          Norman sleepily rubbed his eyes as he climbed the steps to the wheelhouse. "Hey," he called, greeting his younger brother around a yawn.

          "Shh," the deck boss hissed.

          Bewildered by Edgar's request for silence, Norman obligingly lowered his voice as he queried, "Why? What's up?"

          "Don't wanna wake Sig," Edgar replied quietly, pointing towards the opposite side of the wheelhouse.

          Norman peered into the darkness, squinting to catch a glimpse of his older brother: The fair-haired Hansen half-sat, half-sprawled in the Co-Captain's chair. The hydraulics expert winced when he saw Sig's slumped-over posture. "Why is he sleeping there?"

          "Beats the hell outta me," Edgar admitted. "He wandered up here about an hour after I came on watch to bring me coffee."

          "No mechanical problems or anything?" Norman asked, even though he would've been notified of any such issues.       

          "Nope," Edgar replied. The relief skipper shook his head, clearly at a loss to explain his brother's behavior. He stood, yawning widely as he relinquished the helm controls to the other fisherman. "Just do me a favor, huh?"

          "Sure," Norman agreed as he settled into the Captain's chair. "What is it?"

          "Keep an eye on him, okay?" Edgar nodded over at their dozing older brother. "I don't know if it's the stress of meeting our quota[xxxviii] before the prices drop or if they moved up our delivery date[xxxix] or what, but somethin's up with him. I honestly thought he was gonna keel over on me before."

          "What!?" Norman exclaimed, the volume of his voice briefly rousing Sig. The younger fishermen stilled, practically holding their breath, until Sig settled with an incoherent grunt. "He almost passed out?" Norman asked, belatedly lowering his voice.

          "His face went real pale, like flour white, and-" Edgar paused. He ran his hand over the soft leather of the Captain's chair, his callused fingertips catching on the crescent-shaped gouges that marred the material.

          "And?" Norman prompted, anxious to hear the rest of the story.

          "And," Edgar continued, "He grabbed the chair and clawed into the headrest with his fingernails."

          Norman frowned. Sig would never intentionally damage the Captain's chair, a poignant symbol of his captaincy as well as the family legacy. He winced, hoping he was nowhere nearby when Sig inevitably discovered the damage.

          "I asked what was wrong, but he insisted he was 'fine.'" Edgar concluded, his tone betraying the bitterness he felt at being brushed off.

          "He'd tell us if it was something serious," Norman counseled.

          "Yeah, I guess," Edgar replied, unconvinced.

          "Go on," Norman said. "I've got the watch and I'll keep an eye on Sig too."

          "Right," the deck boss nodded. "I'm gonna hit the rack."

          "'Night, Edgar."

          "Goodnight Norman."

* * *

           _Sig took a sip from his_ Northwestern _mug as he climbed the narrow staircase to the wheelhouse. The blonde blinked with startled bewilderment when he reached the last step; in the few minutes he'd been in the galley, someone, presumably Edgar, had decided to play a prank on him. His mischievous brother had somehow gotten his hands on, of all things, a bubble-making machine and had set the seldom-used stereo to play Don Ho's "Tiny Bubbles" **[xl]** on repeat. 'I've gotta give him credit for this one,' Sig thought, absently humming the song's melody as the machine merrily expelled another batch of iridescent spheres._

_A bubble drifted lazily into his line of sight, giving the Norwegian a brief glimpse of its chameleon-like surface, swirling with various hues of blues, purples, yellows, and greens, before it popped and vanished. Sig shook his head as the machine spat out another stream of bubbles. "Christ, they're everywhere," he groused, waving his arm to shoo the floating spheres away from the computer equipment that was arranged on the console around the Captain's chair. Depositing his coffee cup on the wooden windowsill, Sig bent down and unplugged the little machine just as it unleashed another barrage of bubbles._

_Sig paused, the tip of his index finger millimeters away from puncturing the closest delicate sphere, and tilted his head slightly to the side as he scrutinized the bubble. "The hell…?" the eldest Hansen muttered. As he watched, the bubble swelled in size and lost its rainbow-like sheen, taking on the same neon-orange color of a buoy bag. A quick glance at the other bubbles confirmed that they were undergoing the same mysterious transformation. Sig returned his attention to the one that hovered nearest to him and stumbled back a step in surprise when he saw that it was now the same size as a balloon used by car dealerships to attract customers._

_Sig's eyes narrowed as the buoy-bubble rotated in mid-air, displaying the number seventy-seven embossed in black on its side. In his peripheral vision, he could see the others, all labeled with the same ominous number, slowly closing in on him until he was completely surrounded. Sig had never suffered from claustrophobia **[xli]**…such a fear would've made it impossible for him to survive the weeks at sea…but the bright orange spheres were pressing closer and closer and he desperately wanted them out of his space_

_Sig reached up to push the bubble-turned-buoy away, but the second his palms made contact with its smooth surface, it broke with a resounding *bang* and warm liquid sprayed out, coating the Captain's outstretched hands. He looked down, stunned to see crimson blood pooling in the center of his palms and dripping through the spaces between his fingers. The demise of one had evidently started a chain reaction; the other spheres swelled up threateningly, like a tire inflated with too much air, and Sig shielded his face with his arms mere seconds before they exploded with a deafening *boom,* rattling the wheelhouse windows and splattering the sea-eyed sailor with an entire body's worth of blood._

* * *

          'Looks like we're getting close to the beginning of the first string,' Norman thought, comparing the _Northwestern's_ current position with the coordinates Sig had recorded in the logbook. He leaned back in the Captain's chair, peering around the array of computer monitors to see Sig sleeping restlessly at the port side driving station. Deciding to let his brother rest as long as possible, Norman spun counter-clockwise in the chair and grabbed the white phone[xlii] on the wall behind him.

          "Yeah?" Matt answered, voice groggy with sleep.

          "Hey," Norman murmured quietly, not wanting to disturb Sig. "We're almost on the gear, so can you wake everybody and get some breakfast started?"

          "Okay," Matt yawned.

          Norman returned the phone to its cradle and checked the time, his lips moving soundlessly as he mentally calculated how long it'd take to arrive at the first pot. His eyes were involuntarily drawn back to the slumbering form of his brother when Sig unexpectedly hummed a few measures of a familiar melody in his sleep. A small smile tugged at the corners of Norman's mouth. 'I've heard of sleepwalking,' he thought wryly, 'But I've never heard of sleep-singing before.' Norman shook his head. 'Edgar will tease him mercilessly if he ever finds out about this.'

          Half an hour later, the delicious smells of cooking breakfast foods wafted up from the galley below, a clear sign that the others were up and about. Norman's stomach rumbled hungrily and he checked the time again, deciding to wake Sig. Norman got to his feet, stretching his arms up over his head to release the kinks in his back and shoulders.

          The hydraulics expert flipped one of the overhead switches, bathing the starboard side of the wheelhouse with warm, yellow-white light from the incandescent bulb overhead. "Sig?" he called as he approached the sleeping skipper. "Sig," Norman continued, "It's time to get up." He reached out and touched Sig's right shoulder to rouse him, unaware of the bruises that marred his brother's skin. Norm barely dodged out of the way when Sig, still asleep, jerked his arms up like he was trying to protect his face; the eldest Hansen startled awake with a gasping yell that raised the fine hairs on the back of Norman's neck.

          " _Jesus fuck_!" Sig swore breathlessly, unaware of his audience. He swallowed hard, battling back the urge to be sick…with every inhalation, the cloying, coppery scent of spilled blood seemed to intensify. Sig hesitantly lowered his arms from their defensive position and warily appraised his hands; he blinked, half-expecting them to be stained with blood, but relieved to see clean, pale skin instead.

          "Sig?"

          The Captain jumped, startled. Sig looked up to see Norman standing just out of reach, mouth pulled down into a worried frown. "I'm awake," he said, simultaneously responding to his brother's call and assuring himself that he'd escaped another nightmare.

          "You okay?"

          "I'm fine," Sig answered, absently rubbing at the dull ache in his bruised right shoulder before combing his fingers through his disheveled blonde hair in an attempt to smooth it into place. The fourth generation fisherman stood, briefly closing his eyes against the rush of lightheadedness that seemed to plague him after every nightmare; he gradually straightened to his full height, fighting back a pained wince as his back muscles spasmed in protestation of his sleeping arrangements. "We back to the top of the string?" he asked, shifting his focus towards fishing.

          "Yeah almost," Norman replied, allowing Sig to change the subject. "I already rang down and got the others up," he explained as Sig made his way across the wheelhouse. Norman's stomach growled, demanding to be fed. "C'mon," he continued, "We're missing breakfast."

          Sig paled at the mention of food, still nauseated by the phantom-smell of blood. The coppery scent hung so thick in the air that Sig could _taste_ it on his tongue and he desperately needed something to overpower it. He spied his coffee cup, which he'd abandoned on the window ledge hours earlier, and picked it up.

          Norman frowned as Sig settled himself in the Captain's chair and reached for the white mug. "Hasn't that congealed by now?"

          Sig took a tentative sip, his face scrunching up as he swallowed the stone-cold beverage. The hours-old coffee wouldn't win any awards for taste, but the bitter flavor was enough to nullify the persistent smell and taste of blood. "Ugh," Sig grimaced. 'I can't catch a break,' he thought, setting the coffee cup down with a muted thump. The cold coffee had cleared the bloody tang from his olfactory senses, but the frigid liquid roiled in the pit of his unsettled stomach like a wriggling eel.

          "Come on," Norman said as he waited patiently by the stairs, "We've got time to eat."

          "Yeah, okay," Sig said, still nauseated by the notion of eating, but enticed by the siren call of caffeine. He engaged the autopilot and stood up, pausing momentarily to fling the stale coffee out the starboard window. Sig joined his younger brother at the peak of the stairway and gestured for the shorter[xliii] Norwegian to precede him down to the galley. Sig stopped on the small landing outside his stateroom, not following Norman down the second set of steps.

          Sig leaned against the wall and breathed shallowly through his mouth; the scent of eggs, pancakes,[xliv] bacon, and sausage made his stomach churn and he swallowed convulsively against the urge to be sick. Another whiff of the greasy food wafted up the steps and Sig gagged, pivoting on his heel and racing into his stateroom. He sprinted to his private bathroom and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, barely making it before he lost his battle against the nausea. With the exception of a mouthful of stale coffee, there wasn't anything in Sig's stomach to throw up. 'This…frickin'…sucks,' he thought, holding onto the rim of toilet bowl with white-knuckled fingers as he heaved. After what seemed like an eternity, the vomiting mercifully subsided.       

          "Shit," Sig swore, wearily forcing himself to his feet and flushing away the evidence of his illness. He grimaced at the acidic aftertaste of bile and stepped over to the sink. Sig opened the mirror-faced medicine cabinet, snatched his toothbrush off the small shelf, and quickly brushed his teeth. He spit a mixture of saliva and toothpaste into the basin and wiped his mouth with the tan hand towel. Sig closed the cabinet door and flinched when he saw his reflection. "Suck it up," he told himself sternly, hearing Norm calling for him. He sighed and left his room to go see what his brother wanted.

* * *

          Nick, Matt, Jake, and Edgar looked up from their meals when Norman entered the galley. "Hey," Edgar said, purposefully catching his older brother's eye, "How was the _watch_?"

          "Uneventful for the most part," Norman replied, noticing the emphasis Edgar had put on the word, but unwilling to discuss Sig's health in front of the others. 

          "Mr. Northwestern[xlv] watchin' the wheel or is he sleepin' in?" Matt asked.

          Norman's brow creased with confusion and glanced over his shoulder to discover that Sig had disappeared. "He was right behind me," Norm muttered, moving back towards the staircase. "Sig?" he called, peering around the banister. "Sig?" he repeated, climbing halfway up the steps.

          "What?" Sig asked gruffly, frowning as he emerged from his stateroom.

          "Just wondered where you went," Norman said with a shrug. He studied the blonde as Sig came downstairs and strode into the small kitchen. 'I think Edgar was right,' Norman thought, raising an incredulous eyebrow when he saw Sig scowl at the sudsy water in the sink. 'Something is wrong. I can't put my finger on it, not with Sig's poker[xlvi] face in place, but…" He frowned, remembering how Sig had reacted when he'd woke him up. 'That definitely wasn't normal.'

          Sig distrustfully eyed the bubble-encrusted dishwater in the sink. He frowned, remembering the bubbles-turned-buoys-turned-bombs from his dream. Shaking his head, Sig plunged his white mug into the lukewarm water and scrubbed away the golden-brown scum ring. He grabbed a not-as-dirty dishtowel and haphazardly dried his favorite coffee cup before tossing the towel aside. Sig crossed the room and poured himself a generous serving of fresh-brewed coffee from the carafe.

          He took a tentative sip of the bitter brew as he moved to the opposite counter and loaded the four-slice toaster to capacity. Sig wrinkled his nose and nudged a platter of sausages towards the far side of the counter, causing the oblong links to roll through the grease puddle in the center of the plate. The toast popped and he retrieved the browned bread, swearing softly as the too-warm toast singed his fingers. Sig hesitated, knife poised above the butter dish, and decided to eat the toast plain; the idea of eating, even something as bland as dry toast, made his stomach clench warningly. 'But,' Sig thought, 'At least I'll have somethin' other than bile to bring up if I get sick again.'

          "That all you're having?" Nick questioned as Sig carried his breakfast from the cooking area to the dining area.

          "Uh huh," Sig grunted, mutely cursing Mavar for drawing unwelcome attention to how little he was eating. He sighed silently, wishing he could've retreated, unnoticed, to the solitude of his wheelhouse so he could eat, or not eat, in peace.

          "You want eggs?" Edgar asked, gesturing to the heaping pile of scrambled eggs on the plate in the middle of the five-sided table. "I made plenty," he added, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the commotion Matt and Jake were making as the two deckhands squabbled over the last pancake.

          Sig glanced at the eggs and swallowed queasily when he saw them wiggle every time someone bumped the table. "No thanks," Sig said, shaking his head and missing the concerned glance Norman and Edgar exchanged. Stress, exhaustion, and nausea had already given him the mother of all headaches and, the longer he listened to Anderson and Bradley's bickering, the worse it got. "For God's sake!" Sig growled, setting his dishes down on the narrow ledge formed by the half wall. Eyes flashing with blue fire, Sig snatched the lone pancake, charred black on both sides, off the plate between Matt and Jake, bringing their argument to an abrupt halt. "Grow up," the irritated Captain snapped, scowling at the two men as they sulked. Sig turned and angrily tossed the coveted pancake onto his own plate before collecting his breakfast and storming up to the wheelhouse.

          "Yeesh," Matt grumbled, "Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?"

          "We all have our bad days," Nick reasoned as he stood up and began to gather the dirty dishes together. He'd no more than finished speaking before the grating, buzzing noise of the pot launch alarm sounded as the Captain repeatedly depressed the button in the wheelhouse.[xlvii]

          "Today is obviously one of Sig's bad days," Matt muttered as he shoveled his remaining portion of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

          "Don't take it so much to heart," Edgar advised Jake, seeing the younger deckhand's demoralized expression. "Sig was just blowin' off a little steam, that's all. Now c'mon," he continued, encouragingly slapping Jake on the back as he passed by, "We're on the gear."

          The headache-inducing buzz sounded again as the deckhands scraped the leftover food into the trash and dumped their dishes into the sink full of soapy water to soak. "We're comin', we're comin'," Matt groused as he moved to don his oilskin.[xlviii]

          'It's gonna be a long day,' Nick thought, stepping out on deck as Sig pressed and held the buzzer down. He waved at the camera, signaling that the others would be ready momentarily, and the alarm blessedly ceased.

          "First pot's on our bow," Sig stated over the loudhailer, glaring down at the monitor as the others joined Mavar on deck.         

          "Roger!" the deckhands replied as they prepared to pull the pot aboard. 

          'Hopefully we'll see good numbers and that'll put Sig in a better mood,' Edgar thought as Matt tossed the grappling hook and snagged the buoy line.

          The block sang as it hauled the crab pot up from the depths of the Bering Sea. "C'mon, big money!" Jake called as Matt leaned over the rail and attached the picking hook to the bridle.

          The fishermen cheered when the steel cage cleared the rail and they saw that it contained nearly sixty keepers. "Hell yeah!" Matt yelled excitedly as the crab pot landed on the launcher. 

          "That's what I like to see!" Sig announced over the hailer, his sour mood shifting to satisfaction when he saw the cage full of King crab. He smiled in spite of his migraine-strength headache and unsettled stomach. 'If the rest of the strings look like this, we'll be able to plug[xlix] the boat and head in to offload.' Sig superstitiously rapped his knuckles against the wooden windowsill to ward off bad luck.

         The deckhands had scarcely cleared the sorting table by the time the _Northwestern_ arrived at the next pot. Matt ducked inside to get a cigarette, so Jake stepped up to the rail and threw the grappling hook. The block quickly pulled the pot to the surface and Jake leaned over the rail to attach the picking hook. "Riders!"[l] he exclaimed excitedly. 

          Sig left the wheelhouse and stood in his customary spot on the upper deck just as the avalanche of King crab spilled out onto the sorting table. "Nice!" he declared, pleased to see the table full of good, clean[li] crab.

          "Man, where's the table?"[lii] Matt asked, laughing jovially as he returned and began to sort through the wriggling pile of crab.

          "Looks like we landed right on top of 'em," Nick said, grinning widely.

          "Yeah, we're dialed in now," Sig agreed. "Set 'em back," he ordered as he returned to the wheelhouse.

          "Roger!" the deckhands chorused enthusiastically.

* * *

           Sig scrawled the crab count into his notebook and returned the pencil to its makeshift holder attached to the window frame. 'The crab gods seem to be smilin' down on us,' he thought, reaching for his nearly-empty coffee mug. They were averaging about sixty crab per pot and were well on their way to filling all three holding tanks to capacity. Sig steered the _Northwestern_ towards the next set of buoy bags and shivered as a chill zipped down his spine, bringing with it a flashback from one of his nightmares: _The crab cage swung over the rail...the fraying bridle snapped…the steel pot crashed into Edgar, simultaneously snapping the deck boss's neck and throwing the youngest Hansen aside…_  

          Sig shook off the onslaught and expelled an unsteady breath. Shaken, Sig curled his fingers into his hair, focusing on the sting of his fingernails against his scalp as he struggled to compose himself. "Fuck," he swore as a split-second clip of the breaking bridle replayed itself for a second time. "I'm _way_ too young for a fuckin' breakdown,"[liii] Sig muttered, the unease getting progressively worse with each passing second. "Damn it," he growled, reaching for the loudhailer.

          Matt stood ready at the rail. "Come to papa," the bearded deckhand murmured, bringing his arm back to throw the hook. He hesitated when Sig's voice came over the loudhailer.

          "Heads up, guys," the Captain cautioned. "Watch the bridle on this one, okay?"

          Matt, Jake, Norman, Nick, and Edgar exchanged bewildered glances, wondering how Sig could have spotted a bad bridle when the pot was still fathoms[liv] below the sea's surface. "Roger," Edgar called, nodding for Matt to proceed.

          "Here we go," Matt remarked as he let the grappling hook fly. He efficiently fed the line into the block, motioning for Norman to slow the machine's speed as he tossed the buoy bags aside so they wouldn't get stuck.

          "How's it look?" Jake asked curiously as the pot broke the water's surface.

          Matt leaned over the rail to attach the picking hook to the pot's bridle. "Well fuck," he muttered, dark eyes widening when he saw the badly frayed bridle. "Careful with this one," Matt called, catching Norman's eyes. "It's hangin' by a thread. One good jolt and we'll never see it again."

          "Right." The hydraulics expert carefully manipulated the controls and gently brought the pot aboard.

          Edgar waited until the dogs[lv] clanged into place before he nudged Matt aside so he could inspect the bridle. The deck boss whistled as he examined the ragged rope. "Good call, Sig," he declared, looking up to see that Sig had left the wheelhouse and was standing on the upper deck, gazing protectively down at his crew.

          "How'd you know?" Jake queried, feeling both awed and a little disconcerted by the Captain's instincts.

          Sig shrugged and forced his fingers to relax their white-knuckled grip on the metal railing. "All right," he said, "We ain't gonna catch nothin' if the pot's not in the water. Replace the bridle, get the pot emptied and re-baited,[lvi] and then splash it back."

          'It's like he's got some kind of sixth sense sometimes,' Edgar thought, watching Sig as he returned to the wheelhouse. The deck boss shook his head, amazed by the Captain's instincts, and set to work replacing the worn bridle.     

          Sig settled into his chair and released a relieved sigh. He reached for his cigarettes and jumped, startled when the radio crackled to life: " _Northwestern_ , Sig, you got me? It's Johnathan on the _Time Bandit_."

          "Yeah, John, I copy."

          "Just wonderin' how things're goin' over there," the eldest Hillstrand said. 

          "Goin' okay here," Sig said, thinking of how they'd avoided a potentially life-threatening disaster only minutes earlier. "How's fishin'?"

          "We're seein' some decent numbers in our pots," Johnathan answered, being purposefully vague about the amount of crab they were catching. 'After all,' he chuckled, 'I don't want Sig to get any ideas about comin' over to our fishin' spot.' John looked up when his younger brother Andy walked into the wheelhouse. "All right, I'll let you get back to it there," he said into the radio. "Take care, Sig."

          "You too, John," Sig responded, smiling as he hung up the radio. 'Nice of him to call and see how I'm doin',' he thought, grateful to his friend and rival for the gesture of concern. 

          The comm. line crackled to life as Edgar reported the crab count, "Sixty-four, 6-4, in that one, Sig."

          "Hell yeah!" Matt shouted in the background. 

          "Keep 'em comin'!" Nick added enthusiastically.

           "Sixty-four? Ha ha ha!"[lvii] Sig laughed over the loudhailer as he logged the number in his notebook. He tallied the numbers, calculating how many more pounds they still needed to catch before they could head in for their scheduled offload. The sea-eyed sailor nodded, pleased with the figures, and glanced over at the plotter. "All right, we've got about fifteen minutes 'til we reach the next string," he continued. "Let's get the bait ready so we can put 'em on a town soak and head in."[lviii]

          "Roger!" the five fishermen called cheerfully.

          While the crew obediently headed over to the bait station to begin filling the town soak bait jars, Sig picked up his coffee mug and frowned when he realized it was empty except for the dregs at the bottom. He activated the autopilot and stood up to head down to the galley, but hesitated when the nausea from earlier suddenly returned. "Crap," Sig muttered, pressing his palm against his stomach as it lurched. "Maybe I'll hold off on that coffee," he decided, sinking back down into his chair.

* * *

          Ten hours later, they had not only finished pulling and setting their gear back, but they had also stuffed the _Northwestern's_ holding tanks to the point of bursting. Sig yawned widely as he checked the boat's course and speed as they sailed towards Akutan Island.[lix] The bouts of nausea and the unrelenting headache nearly negated any relief he might have felt after having caught enough crab in time for their scheduled offload. Sig wearily rubbed his sandpaper-dry eyes, trying to alleviate the burn from not having slept in nearly thirty hours. 

          Sig yawned and got to his feet, swaying slightly as he adjusted to the change in altitude. Doubting his ability to stay awake, he set the watch alarm[lx] and returned to his seat. The skipper reached for his coffee mug and grimaced as he swallowed the long-cold liquid. Sig stubbornly fought to stay awake, but it wasn't long before he lost the battle against Niorun,[lxi] succumbing to sleep and another nightmare.

_Sig turned in his chair and looked out the wheelhouse door when the knuckle crane unexpectedly whirred to life; he frowned in confusion when he saw Edgar using the crane to stack the fishing gear on the stern. The fair-haired Hansen got to his feet and swung the wheelhouse door wide open. "Edgar," he called, "What the hell're you doin'? I told you to set those pots back, not stack 'em."_

_"Have to stack 'em," Edgar stated without turning around._

_"What the hell for?" Sig demanded. "We're seein' solid numbers here!"_

_"Have to stack 'em," Edgar tonelessly insisted as he continued to stack the crab pots._

_"Why!?"_

_Edgar's hands fell away from the controls, but the deck boss still didn't turn to face his brother. "Because we have to go to port."_

_"And_ why _do we have to do that?" Sig snapped, irritated with Edgar's antics._

_"Because…" Edgar began, finally turning his head to look at Sig. The gut-wrenching sound of snapping vertebrae echoed loudly in Sig's ears as Edgar's head_ kept _turning. "…I don't wanna be buried at sea," Edgar explained, seemingly unbothered by his badly broken neck._

          The blaring watch alarm wrenched Sig free from the nightmare. Heart pounding, Sig got dizzily to his feet and muted the alarm. He moved back towards his chair, but only made it as far as the archive cabinet before his legs buckled. Sig's head clipped the top edge of the cabinet and his back slammed against its front face as he collapsed, but he was deaf to the loud *bang* that echoed through the wheelhouse and numb to the pain of the drawer handles as they dug into his spine. Black spots danced in front of Sig's eyes; he blinked lethargically, dazed from both the nightmare and the blow to his head.

          Sig raised his right hand and touched the back of his head, grimacing in pain when his fingertips found the sizeable knot. He pulled his hand away, releasing a relieved sigh when he saw no blood. Sig let his hand drop limply into his lap and gathered his strength for the challenge of climbing to his feet. He reached up, grasping the edge of the archive cabinet and using it to help him stand. Sig swore, tightening his grip when he swayed and nearly fell.

          Sig stumbled to his chair and dutifully checked to make sure the _Northwestern_ hadn't drifted off course. 'Must have some beautiful frickin' bruises on my back,' he realized, flinching as he leaned back in his chair. The eldest Hansen ran a shaking hand through his hair, grimacing when he inadvertently prodded the hidden goose egg. 'Stop cryin' about it,'[lxii] Sig thought as he laced his fingers together behind his head.         

         Sig sighed. He had hoped the nightmares, headaches, and nausea would end after he'd averted the near-disaster with the bad bridle, but it hadn't; if anything, it had gotten worse. The Captain silently vowed to keep his seafaring family and his ship safe. 'And I can start by not fallin' asleep at the wheel like a damn greenhorn,'[lxiii] he thought fiercely, straightening his posture and reaching for his cigarettes. 'Nicotine don't fail me now,' Sig thought as he slid the filtered end into his mouth and habitually curled the fingers around the lighter to protect the tiny, quivering flame.

* * *

**References & Glossary of Terms:**

[i] "I mean, every minute the clock ticks the more you're stressin' over it. It's _time_ …time is what makes us money." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-1) "Money's not the issue for us right now, it's _time_ ; time is what makes us money." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-6) "Time is always an issue on a crab boat." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-10)

[ii] "It's hard to keep a positive attitude, you know, when you're pulling a lot of single digits and grinding like that." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-7)

[iii] Jake Anderson described running "the hydros" [the hydraulics] as "nerve-wracking." (Deadliest Catch S.5-4)

[iv] "When I wanna go fast, they go slow." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-4)

[v] At the end of the 2006 Opie season, Sig opened the suggestion box that contained suggestions/complaints from the crew. One complaint read, 'More sleep! IFQ [Individual Fishing Quota]!' and Sig remarked, "Poor things." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-12) 

[vi] "The guys had about an hour of sleep tonight; I haven't been to bed…watch the boat on the run up and I think, uh, you know… [yawns]." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-2)

[vii] "We'll just blast 'em [the pots] off." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-1) 

[viii] "Complacency…it's the biggest killer in the Bering Sea." (Keith Colburn, Deadliest Catch S.8-20)

[ix] "My prediction is they're gonna get pretty snippy here in a little bit and I'm just gonna plug my ears." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-13)

[x] "Yeah, I got 'em trained to _suffer_." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-15)

[xi] "This is the 'Voodoo Lounge.' This is where we hang out when we can't go inside and we're not haulin' gear. We can talk about anything, except for fishing." (Edgar Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-4)

[xii] "I'll stick with my Copenhagen." (Norman Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-1)

[xiii] Sig told Edgar, "Just don't stress me out. Period." Edgar deadpanned, "I wouldn't do that." (Deadliest Catch S.5-1) 

[xiv] The acetone in nail polish remover will help remove permanent ink from one's skin. ([www.ehow.com/how_5097427_remove-sharpie-ink-skin.html](http://www.ehow.com/how_5097427_remove-sharpie-ink-skin.html))

[xv] "Cajun Shrimp" is an OPI brand nail polish color. ([www.thebeautyclutch.com/opicashc.html](http://www.thebeautyclutch.com/opicashc.html))

[xvi] "Flashbulb Fuchsia" is an OPI brand nail polish color. ([www.thebeautyclutch.com/opiflfus.html](http://www.thebeautyclutch.com/opiflfus.html)) 

[xvii] "OPI Red" is an OPI brand nail polish color. I have intentionally misspelled the name in Sig's dialogue, because if he knew such a color existed, he would probably think it referred to the color of Opilio crab. ([www.thebeautyclutch.com/opiopiredcreme.html](http://www.thebeautyclutch.com/opiopiredcreme.html))

[xviii] Jake says he was "raised by five sisters" and "raised by a bunch of girls." (Deadliest Catch S.5-14) 

[xix] Everyone on the F/V Northwestern wears Helly Hansen apparel.

[xx] Fishermen usually like to see one crab for each hour of soak time; Sig has a higher-than-normal average since the pot has only been soaking for ten hours and contains sixteen crabs. 

[xxi] Setting Back: When a crab pot is pulled, emptied, re-baited, and dropped back in the same location.

[xxii] "Feathered" hair was a popular hairstyle for both men and women in the 1970s and the early 1980s. The hair was grown long on both sides (normally covering the ears, although it could be shoulder length), un-layered (although some men with curly hair did have it layered), with either a side or a centre parting. The hair would be brushed back at the sides, giving an appearance similar to the feathers of a bird. (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feathered_hair)

[xxiii] Edgar is 6' tall. Sig is 5'8" tall.

[xxiv] Sig wears a Gold Nugget watch. (erinskipley.com/#/uncategorized/captain-sig-from-the-deadliest-catch/)

[xxv] Sig and Edgar once had a 'last-man-standing' contest to see who could work longer; it lasted approximately 47 hours before Sig nodded off at the helm and asked for a truce. (Deadliest Catch S.4-4) An interviewer once asked Sig, "What are some of the ways you stay awake when in the wheel house?" and Sig answered, "I can stay awake for days on end if I'm excited about every pot that I pull. I've stayed awake for just over three days. And yes, you do drop off from time to time but basically coffee, cigarettes, and chocolate is my diet. It works. And being stubborn never hurt either." ([www.helium3game.com/web/deadliestcatch/interviews/sighansen/?page=3](http://www.helium3game.com/web/deadliestcatch/interviews/sighansen/?page=3))

[xxvi] After falling asleep at the helm (after being awake for approximately 50 hours) Sig says, "Fuck, I'm tired." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-14)

[xxvii] In an interview on the De Laatste Show, Sig says he's been "awake for over 3 days; and that's coffee, cigarettes, and chocolate." ([www.youtube.com/watch?v=9m7EaoBow3g](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9m7EaoBow3g)) 

[xxviii] Bow: Front of the boat.

[xxxi] Shelter deck: The high 'wall' on the port side of each vessel that helps block waves and sea spray; it helps shelter the crew as they work on deck. (Deadliest Catch S.5-9)

[xxxii] Vennligst: "Please" in Norwegian 

[xxxiii] "The weight is always on my shoulders…somebody gets hurt, it's gonna be my fault." ('Wild' Bill Wichrowski , Deadliest Catch S.8-21)

[xxxiv] "[Sig's been] in the chair for over 30 straight hours without a break." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.5-2)

[xxxv] "After 34 hours of straight work, the skipper's got to go down." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.2-8)

[xxxvi] "[Sig's] been at the wheel for 40 hours straight." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.8-13)

[xxxvii] "The crew has been fishing for two days straight with only four hours of sleep. Fatigue has taken a toll. Captain Sig Hansen hasn't slept a wink." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.2-5) Sig has been "at the helm for 48 hours." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.2-7) 

[xxxviii] Instead of the "derby-style" fishing in the past, now each boat is assigned an IFQ (Individual Fishing Quota). This change is supposed to make it safer for the fishermen, because they don't have to rush to catch crab to get a share of the total allowed quota.

[xxxix] Several times throughout the series, we've seen the processor move delivery dates ahead, which puts additional stress on the Captain and crew and forces the fishermen to work longer hours without promised breaks. Sig "kinda promised the guys" that he wouldn't make them pull another all-nighter, but he has to break his promise, because the processor pushed up the delivery date and the amount of crab to catch. (Deadliest Catch S.4-11) Sig is in a foul mood after receiving a call from the processor informing him that they are pushing up the F/V Northwestern's delivery date; when Matt is late to throw the hook Sig's simmering temper boils over, "I guess if Matt's gonna set the pace, I'll just _crawl_ up to the pot! He's not even in the game; he's not even fucking here right now. He doesn't care. He's walkin'…he's not running. He's not even walking, he's fucking _crawling_!" (Deadliest Catch S.5-4) "And, they've already bumped our date up, which is… _great_." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-13) 

[xl] "Tiny Bubbles" by Don Ho is one of Sig's favorite songs. ([www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/games-and-more/sig-hansen-quiz.htm](http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/games-and-more/sig-hansen-quiz.htm))

[xli] Claustrophobia: An abnormal fear of being closed in or of being in a confined space. ([www.dictionary.reference.com](http://www.dictionary.reference.com))

[xlii] Phones are installed strategically around the ship and help facilitate communication to the wheelhouse.

[xliii] Sig is 5'8" tall. Norman is 5'6" tall.

[xliv] Sig reads through the suggestion box and someone requests that Sig should show his appreciation for their hard work by cooking breakfast for them. "We like pancakes." (Deadliest Catch S.2-12)

[xlv] "Mr. Northwestern" is a nickname that the Captain of the F/V Farwest Leader (Greg Moncrief) gave to Sig; it seems likely that this nickname would spread to other sailors in fleet, including Sig's own crew. ([www.deadliestcatchfanwiki.com/page/Sig+Hansen](http://www.deadliestcatchfanwiki.com/page/Sig+Hansen))

[xlvi] "[Fishing] It's just one of those things; it's a part of you. It's like a game of poker." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-16)

[xlvii] Sig continuously 'buzzes' the crew to get them to pick up the pace. (Deadliest Catch S.-11) He also does this when he's irritable because he's trying to quit smoking. (Deadliest Catch S.5-12)

[xlviii] "Oilskin" is another term for rain gear.

[xlix] "Plugging" or "stuffing" the boat is where the fishermen cram as much crab as possible into the holding tanks.

[l] "Riders" are crabs that have not yet gone into the crab cage; seeing them usually indicates a full pot.

[li] "Clean" crab refers to crabs that have no discoloration on their bellies and do not have barnacles on them; "processors pay less for crab with barnacles or discoloration." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.2-4)

[lii] "Where's the table?" (Matt Bradley, Deadliest Catch S.5-11)

[liii] "…I'm _way_ too young for a fuckin' breakdown, but it's on the verge. Seriously." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-13)

[liv] Fathoms are often used to measure water depths; one fathom is equal to six feet.

[lv] Dogs: Metal hooks on the launcher that clamp down on the steel frame of the pot to keep it secured in place when the launcher is raised upright.

[lvi] Bait is only active for 3 days in a set pot. (Deadliest Catch S.2-2)

[lvii] "What'd you get on that last one? 6-4? Ha ha ha!" (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.8-1)

[lviii] "Put 'em on a town soak and we'll head in." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.10-10)

[lix] Akutan Island, Alaska has been the Hansen's offload place since the 1960s. (Deadliest Catch S.3-6)

[lx] Watch Alarm: An alarm that goes off every fifteen minutes to ensure that whoever is on watch does not fall asleep at the helm.

[lxi] Niorun is the Norse goddess of dreams and she can give the gift/curse of prophetic dreams. (www.northernpaganism.org/shrines/niorun/about.html) Because of Sig's Norwegian heritage, I thought it only fitting to reference Niorun rather than the more widely known Greek god Morpheus.

[lxii] After Sig experiences strange chest pains he tells himself to "Stop cryin' about it." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-11)

[lxiii] Greenhorn: A new or an inexperienced deckhand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da: Chapter Two! Please don't forget to comment or leave kudos!  
> The Swordsman


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the red crab season, Sig begins to suffer from horrific nightmares. As the Captain struggles to cope with the additional stress, he wonders if his ominous dreams are a sign that he's losing his sanity or if the nightmares are forewarning him of danger in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. I love Sig and the crew of the F/V Northwestern and I mean no disrespect towards them or anyone else who appears on the show by writing this story.
> 
> Author's Notes: Sig, Edgar, and Norman all speak fluent Norwegian;) I, sadly, do not, so the translation in this chapter was done by translate.google.com. I also wanted to take a moment to thank the guests who left kudos; I really appreciate your positive feedback & I'm excited to know that you've enjoyed what I've written. Hope you like chapter three!

* * *

          Sig squinted up at the digital screen that displayed the weight of each brailer[i] and swore softly in Norwegian when the numbers blurred out of focus. He tucked his clipboard under his left armpit and pressed the heels of both hands firmly against his tired eyes. They'd arrived at the Island of Akutan earlier that day and were now three-quarters of the way through their twenty-six hour[ii] offload. Sig startled, snapping his burning eyes open, when someone tugged the clipboard out from underneath his arm. "The hell?" he demanded, frowning at Matt who had taken the weight log sheet. 

          "You look dead-tired, man," the deckhand said. "I'll take weights if you wanna go nap."

          ' _Naptime_ ,' Sig silently sneered, 'Like I'm a damn kindergartener.' The effect of Sig's fierce scowl was ruined by a jaw-cracking yawn. 'Ah, to hell with it,' he thought, too exhausted to argue; he couldn't continue working if he couldn't accurately record the numbers.[iii] "Okay," he acquiesced, raising his hands in surrender, "I'm gonna go crash awhile." The blonde crossed the deck, skirting the hole where the heavy, metal hatch had been removed from the middle holding tank, and disappeared into the boat.

          "Where's Sig goin'?" Nick asked, looking up from where he was filling a plastic tote with dead-loss[iv] crab. 

          "He's gonna catch a quick nap," Matt replied, writing down the weight as the processor crane lifted another full brailer off the white and blue-painted boat. He tucked the pencil between his cap and his ear as he continued, "Have you _seen_ the shadows under his eyes? It looks like he got in a no-holds-barred bar fight or somethin'." Matt shrugged. "I figure a little extra rest won't hurt him any."

           'Just as long as he doesn't start sleepwalking again,' Mavar thought, nodding his agreement.

* * *

          "I can't believe the _nerve_ of that woman!" Edgar raged as he stalked angrily into the galley.

          "Why?" "What happened?" "What woman?" Norman, Nick, and Matt asked simultaneously.

          "'I'm sorry, sir,'" Edgar quoted, raising his voice to a shrill falsetto to imitate the woman's voice, "'But our policy dictates that I can only release the check for the catch to the Captain of the vessel.'" The deck boss waved his hands wildly in the air as he continued, "I said, 'Look, lady, I understand why you can't just hand the check over to any guy who claims to work on the boat, but I'm a _co-owner_ , my oldest brother is the Captain…d'you really think I can't be trusted with the check?'"

          "So she gave it to you after you explained things to her?" Jake asked innocently.

          "Hell no!" Edgar exploded. "She just recited the policy again!"

          "Guess we'll have to wake Sig," Nick observed, ignoring the deck boss as Edgar muttered irritably to himself in Norwegian.

          "We would've had to wake him soon anyway so we can leave port," Norman reasoned, silently wishing his older brother could've had more time to rest.

          "Let's get him so we can get outta here," Edgar remarked, having mastered his temper.

          "Better get some coffee ready," Nick said as the two Hansens headed up to Sig's stateroom.

          "You know he has to have his dose of 'vitamin C'[v] first thing when he wakes up," Matt agreed.

          "Yeah, he's scary when he starts going through caffeine withdrawals," Jake added, shuddering dramatically.

          Nearly half an hour[vi] passed and Sig's coffee mug still sat ready, waiting, and empty on the kitchen counter. Nick glanced at the clock and frowned. "I wonder what the hold-up is."

          The telephone rang. "Hello?" Matt answered. His eyebrows rose of their own volition as he listened to the caller. "Yeah," he agreed, "Comin' right up."

         "What's up?" Jake queried as Matt returned the phone to its cradle.

          "Guess they're havin' trouble wakin' Sig," Matt laughed, "So they want somebody to bring up some coffee to try an' lure him out of bed."

          "It's an idea worth trying anyways," Nick chuckled as he poured some fresh-brewed coffee into Sig's favorite mug.

          "I'll take it up," Jake volunteered. He accepted the cup from his uncle and ascended the staircase to Sig's stateroom, being careful not to slosh any of the steaming liquid over the sides of the mug. "I've got the coffee," Jake called, stopping just shy of entering the Captain's private quarters.

          "Bring it here," Edgar requested, waving Jake into the room as Norman continued to try to coax Sig into waking.

          Jake stepped over the threshold and crossed the room to where Edgar was standing near the foot of Sig's bunk. He handed the caffeinated beverage to the deck boss and glanced curiously around the sparsely furnished room. "So," he began, turning his attention back to the Hansen brothers, "How're you going to use that to wake him?"

          "Here," Edgar said, holding out a battered, dog-eared copy of _Yachting_ magazine.[vii]

          "What am I supposed to do with this?" Jake asked, forehead furrowing with confusion.

          "Fan the coffee fumes towards Sig," Edgar replied as though it should've been obvious.

          "Okay." Jake shrugged and flapped the magazine in the air, sending the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafting towards the sleeping skipper. His arm tired and he had to transfer the magazine to his other hand before the bundle of blankets shifted and a blonde head appeared.

          "What?" Sig rasped, glaring balefully up at the men who'd disturbed him.

          "It's alive," Norman deadpanned.

          "Ha ha," Sig grumbled groggily. He sat up, revealing that he'd gone to bed still dressed in his navy-blue polo shirt and jeans. Sig combed his fingers through his hair, hiding a wince when he inadvertently touched the sizeable knot on his skull, and sniffed the air. "Coffee?" he queried, finally identifying the scent and making a give-it-here motion with his right hand.

          Edgar smirked, but obligingly surrendered the mug to his brother. "We're finished with the offload," he reported as Sig swallowed half the cup's contents in one go.

          "Just need to pick up the check and check out of port," Norman added.

          "Mmm hmm," Sig grunted, making a face as he drained the rest of the coffee from the cup. "Somebody put creamer in this?"[viii] he asked, holding up the now-empty mug and eyeing it distrustfully, prompting an outburst of laughter from Norman, Jake, and Edgar. "All right," Sig remarked, pushing the bedding aside and getting to his feet, "Clear outta here so I can make myself presentable."

          Sig shooed the three snickering deckhands out of his stateroom and closed the door behind them. He shuffled across the green carpet and entered his private bathroom. The Norwegian turned on the tap and held his hands under the chrome faucet, forming a makeshift bowl. He splashed the cool water on his face, hoping it would help him wake up, and reached for his tan hand towel. Sig dried his face, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth before leaving the washroom. He stripped off his wrinkled polo shirt and replaced it with a white T-shirt and a cobalt-blue, fleece pullover. Sig grabbed his blue _Northwestern_ jacket and habitually brushed imaginary lint off the embroidered, silver-white thread of the Hansen brothers' crest. Sig pulled the jacket on as he descended the stairs to the galley. "All right," he announced, "I'll go get the check and then we'll throw the lines and get outta here."

         "Yeah, man, let's go fishin'!" Matt exclaimed excitedly, making everyone laugh.

* * *

          "Get ready, guys," Sig called over the loudhailer as he guided the _Northwestern_ towards the first of the town soak pots. "Two minutes 'til we're on the gear."

          "Roger!" the deckhands replied. They finished dressing in their rain gear, lit their cigarettes, and stepped outside, ready to work.

          "I'm anxious to see how much we caught while we were in town," Nick commented as he and Matt stood by the rail.

          "Yeah, me too," Matt agreed, looking out at the blue waters of the Bering Sea. 

          "We were on really good fishing before we went in to offload," Mavar remarked. "Let's hope the little buggers didn't scurry away on us." 

          "Amen, man," Matt laughed.

          "All right," Edgar said as he picked up the grappling hook, "Let's see what we caught." The deck boss twirled the grappling hook a few times, gaining momentum before throwing it. Edgar easily caught the line in the water and efficiently fed it into the block, tossing the buoy bags aside as they came up.

          The crew cheered as the pot broke the water's surface, excited to discover that the steel cage was more than half-full of Red King crab. "Now that's what we like to see!" Nick declared.

Up in the wheelhouse, Sig squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the fingertips of his right hand firmly against the pounding pulse-point above his right eyebrow. 'This headache has been kickin' my ass since we left Akutan,' the fair-haired Hansen thought, dropping his hand and blinking his eyes open. He glanced at the monitor that showed the live footage from the camera on deck. 'At least we're still dialed in on the crab,' Sig mused as the loaded pot cleared the rail and clattered down onto the launcher.         

          The dogs locked into place, holding the pot secure, and Edgar and Nick quickly untied the pot ties that held the door shut. "There's gotta be, what, at least eighty in there, right?" Jake asked as the catch spilled out onto the sorting table. 

          "Probably," Nick agreed as he picked up two King crabs and dropped them into the tank. 

          "Aren't they beautiful?" Matt added, holding a crab aloft. He sniffed its shell. "Smells like money,"[ix] he laughed. 

          The deckhands enthusiastically sorted through the wriggling pile and Jake relayed the crab count up to the wheelhouse. "Eighty-six, 8-6, in that one, Sig." 

          "Good," Sig answered. "We'll pull this string and then move over west aways and set 'em right back."

          "Roger!"

* * *

          Sig came into the galley where his crew was enjoying a nice, hot meal after having spent the last thirty-seven hours out on deck hauling metal.[x] "Coffee," the fair-haired Captain muttered, his eyes fixed unerringly on the coffee pot.

          "Whoa, zombie alert," Jake quipped. He stretched his arms out in front of him, assuming the classic zombie posture as Sig reached for the carafe. "Brains…" he droned, rocking left and right where he sat at the table to mimic a zombie's staggering walk, his antics earning uproarious laughter from the other deckhands.

          "Funny," Sig grumbled, gracing Jake with a half-hearted glare.

          "Everything okay?" Norman asked, his amusement fading when he saw his brother's haggard appearance. After thirty-seven hours of non-stop work, they all looked a little ragged, but Sig's face was pinched and pale from too much stress and too little sleep.

          "Fine," Sig replied as he raised his white cup and took a deep drink of the bitter brew.

          Nick walked into the cooking area to fill his bowl with another helping of the hearty beef and vegetable stew; briefly setting his own dish aside, he grabbed a clean bowl from the cupboard and ladled a healthy, fisherman-sized portion into it. "Here," Nick said, pausing to grab his own food before offering the other bowl to Sig.

          "Not hungry," the sea-eyed skipper said, not looking up from his coffee cup.

          "Hey, Walking Dead," Edgar interjected as he rose from his seat at the five-sided table, "I know it's not the gray matter you zombies crave, but you should eat somethin'." Sig shook his head in silent refusal, but the deck boss persisted. He swiped the bowl from Nick's outstretched hand and shoved it under his stubborn brother's nose. "Eat."

          'No one orders me around on my own boat,' Sig seethed, his patience snapping like an overburdened mooring line.[xi] Sig drew breath to deliver a scathing retort, but froze, skin paling to an unhealthy gray, when he saw a grinning skull staring back at him from where Edgar's face should've been. "Jaevla helvete!"[xii] he swore. Sig recoiled, his mug slipping from his hand to shatter on the floor as he retreated until his back hit the wall; steaming coffee pooled on the ground and ceramic shards scattered across the almond-colored linoleum like dry, dead leaves. Sig squeezed his eyes shut to escape the skeletal visage and covered his heart, his fingers curling into the soft fleece of his pullover. 

          Norman banged his knee on the edge of the table, causing the dinnerware to clatter as he leapt to his feet, and Edgar jumped, brown eyes widening with obvious surprise as he stared at Sig; they exchanged anxious glances, alarmed by their older brother's behavior. Not wanting to intrude, Nick, Matt, and Jake simultaneously decided to make themselves scarce; the three deckhands gathered their meals and silently retreated to their cabin. 

          "Sig?" Norman queried anxiously.

          "You okay?" Edgar added.

          Sig hesitantly opened his eyes and exhaled an unsteady breath of relief when he saw the concerned faces of his brothers and not the skeletal overlay that had concealed Edgar's face. "I'm okay," he answered, eyeing the spilled coffee and the broken mug with a disappointed frown. "Pissed that I broke my favorite coffee cup though."

          "Never mind that," Norman interjected, stepping over the mess. "Here, let's sit down," he continued, grasping Sig's elbow and holding on when Sig tried to shrug him off. Norman deftly steered the taller fisherman towards the table and urged him to sit down on the cushioned bench. Once the Captain settled into his seat, Norman reclaimed his place on the left hand side of the table where his half-eaten meal was waiting for him.

          Edgar efficiently mopped up the puddled spill with some paper towels and disposed of the vestiges of the broken mug. He quickly washed his hands and grabbed Sig's meal off the counter. "Shove over," the deck boss said, setting Sig's portion down on the tabletop. He gestured down at his own abandoned bowl, which sat directly in front of Sig. "I wanna finish my supper."

          Blue-green vinyl squeaked in protest as Sig wordlessly slid over into the middle of the booth. Sig frowned, belatedly realizing that his brothers had sneakily manipulated him into sitting between them. 'They've literally got me backed into a damn corner,' he thought, releasing a silent, exasperated sigh. Sig shifted so he could retrieve his cigarettes and lighter; he slipped the filtered end between his lips and flicked his lighter to life, curling his hand around the fragile flame to protect it from a non-existent breeze.

          'It's only a matter of time before the inquisition begins,' Sig thought, taking a deep drag of nicotine. He stared down at the smoldering cigarette nestled between the middle and index fingers of his left hand, eyes sliding out of focus as he watched the wisps of smoke curl up to form hypnotizing patterns. 'It's not that I don't _want_ to confide in Edgar and Norman,' he mused. 'They're my brothers, my _family_ , for Christ's sake. But, when we're on this boat, I'm their Captain and a Captain doesn't have the luxury of baring his soul to his crew.'[xiii] 

          Edgar gently prodded Sig with the handle of his soupspoon. "I think that one's toast," he said, gesturing to Sig's cigarette, which had burned down to the filter while Sig had been lost in his thoughts.

          'Only got one puff off the frickin' thing,' Sig grumbled inwardly. With an aggrieved huff, he tossed the butt into the black, plastic ashtray on the table. He reached out to retrieve another cigarette from the pack, but stopped before he could complete the action; like any smoker, Sig smoked when he felt stressed,[xiv] but cigarettes were a precious commodity on the Bering Sea and he was going to have to ration them if he wanted to have enough to last the entire trip. 'Ration them,' the Captain snorted, combing his fingers through his thinning hair. 'Like hell that'll happen.'

          Sig retracted his hand, leaving the coveted Camels in the center of the table, and picked up a clean soupspoon instead, needing to have something in his hands even. He idly twirled the utensil around his fingers like a miniature baton before submerging it in the bowl of cooling stew in front of him. Distractedly, Sig brought a spoonful up to his mouth and chewed the meat, potatoes, and carrots before swallowing, mechanically feeding himself as he slipped back into his thoughts.

          Norman pushed his empty dishes aside and took advantage of Sig's distraction to observe his older brother: Sig's stormy blue eyes were bloodshot and his complexion was still too pale, although the grayish hue had started to fade as Sig ate. 'At least he's eating,' Norm noted, 'Even if he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it.'

          Finished with his own meal, Edgar cleared his throat. "So, Sig," he began, "We couldn't help but notice that you haven't been eatin' or sleepin' much and we want you to know that we'll listen if you wanna talk about whatever's goin' on, y'know?" The deck boss winced as Norman kicked him, hard, under the table; clearly he wasn't pleased that Edgar had broached the subject when Sig had only just started to consume his own meal.

          Sig blinked, surprised to discover the spoonful of stew hovering in front of his half-open mouth; the rich flavors of beef, vegetables, and stew spices on his tongue indicated that he'd eaten on autopilot. Lowering the spoon back into the mostly-full bowl, he looked his brothers: Norman's lips were pressed thinly together as he stared disapprovingly across the table at Edgar and Edgar was regarding Norm with a contrite, kicked-puppy expression that looked downright bizarre on his scruffily bearded face. Sig shuddered as the skeletal visage fleetingly returned, momentarily obscuring Edgar's familiar features before disappearing.

          ""Sig?"" Edgar and Norman spoke simultaneously, noticing Sig's split-second lapse.

          'He looks…spooked,' Norman realized, frowning when he saw that the touch of color Sig had regained had disappeared, leaving a perturbing pallor in its place.

          "You comin' down with somethin'?" Edgar asked, reaching out and resting his palm against the eldest Hansen's forehead to check for a fever.

          "I'm fine," Sig said, scowling darkly as he swatted Edgar's hand away. Norman and Edgar simply stared at him, clearly skeptical. Sig dragged his hand over his unshaven face and sighed; he knew that the more he insisted he was fine, the more it would convince his brothers of the opposite. "Look, I'm not sick," Sig said wearily, vehemently hoping that the nausea wouldn't return. He wasn't sick, but his eyes _burned_ from the lack of sleep and he'd been running exclusively on coffee, cigarettes, and chocolate since they'd left Akutan…. "Fuck I'm tired," Sig confessed, trying and failing to fight off a jaw-cracking yawn.

          Norman and Edgar exchanged significant looks; Sig had to be absolutely _exhausted_ if he admitted to being tired. "C'mon," Edgar said, tugging at Sig's sleeve as Norman collected the dirty dishes.

          "Where?" the Captain asked as he scooted out of the booth.      

          "It's passed your bedtime," Edgar remarked, resting a steadying hand between Sig's shoulder blades when he swayed upon standing.

          Sig winced when his brother unknowingly touched the bruises on his back and blinked his blurring vision back into focus. "I haven't had a bedtime since I was nine," he grumbled as he shuffled towards the stairs.

          Edgar followed closely as Sig unsteadily ascended the stairs, half-afraid that Sig would fall and tumble backwards down the steps. 'It's amazing he's still on his feet,' the deck boss thought. 'Sure, he had a nap while we were offloading, but he stayed at the helm the whole time we were en route back to the fishing grounds; hell, he let us rest without waking any of us to take our turn on watch…and then he worked thirty-seven hours straight while we pulled, re-baited, and set back all of our gear.' 

          "Never should've admitted I was tired," Sig mumbled as they reached the small landing outside his stateroom. "Fuck," he cursed, scowling down at his uncooperative feet when he stumbled and had to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself.

          "Why not?" Edgar asked as Sig sat down on the edge of his bed. "You're _human_ , not a robot,[xv] and humans occasionally need to sleep."

          "'Cause admittin' it means acknowledgin' it," the Captain explained candidly, exhaustion loosening his tongue. "And acknowledgin' it is like givin' it permission to knock you on your ass." Sig wearily rubbed the right side of his face. "Can't ignore it anymore…."

          "That makes a surprising amount of sense considerin' you're suffering from sleep deprivation," Edgar said as he knelt down to untie his brother's work boots.

          Sig snorted back a laugh, too tired to feel properly terrified when Edgar's callused hands morphed into their skeletal counterparts. 'Bering Sea dementia,'[xvi] Sig thought, watching as the bone-exposed fingers pulled at his bootlaces. 

          Finished with his self-appointed task, Edgar stood up. "There's no way I'm takin' your pants off," he declared, bringing his brother out of his daze.

          "I think I can manage that myself."

          "Thank God," Edgar deadpanned, shuddering theatrically.

          "Get the hell out so I can go to bed, Edgar," the Captain commanded.

          "Goodnight, Sig," Edgar chuckled, obediently moving towards the door.

          "'Night, Edgar," Sig yawned as the deck boss quietly closed the door behind him as he left the room. The fair-haired fisherman stood up and mechanically stripped off his jeans, fleece pullover, and white T-shirt, leaving him in just his boxer shorts. Sig discarded the clothes in an untidy pile beside his bunk and climbed under the covers. 'Hopefully I'll be too tired to dream,' he thought as he adjusted his pillow; seconds later, he was sound asleep. 

* * *

**References & Glossary of Terms:**

[i] Brailer: Large bag made of canvas and netting that the processing plants use to unload crab from the holds of the boats. 

[ii] Typically takes 26 hours to offload at the processor at Akutan. (Deadliest Catch S.4-8) 

[iii] "Numbers are very important to me; my life consists of numbers. When I don't get 'em, I get really, _frickin'_ mad, because it's not that hard to give me numbers!" (Sig Hansen - excerpt from the infamous "Crab count now! Rampage," Deadliest Catch S.4-3)

[iv] Dead-loss: The crab that die during transport from the sea to the processor; the Captains and crews want to keep dead-loss to a minimum, because they do not get paid for dead crab. If a crab dies while in the holding tank, it releases toxins that can poison the healthy crabs; one dead crab has the potential to kill the entire catch. (fvnorthwestern.com) Dead-loss usually occurs if an injured crab (i.e. a crab that is missing a leg) is tossed into the hold or if the crab is kept for too long in the holding tank; crab starts dying after 10 days in the tank. (Deadliest Catch S.6-4)

[v] "Healthy. Vitamin C: Coffee. This is my orange juice." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-11)

[vi] "…It took the guys a half an hour to wake me up…" (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-4)

[vii] Sig appeared on the cover of _Yachting_ magazine for their adventure issue in August 2010.

[viii] "Somebody put creamer in this?" (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-11)

[ix] Matt said something similar while fishing for Opilio crab, but the sentiment also applies to red crab: "This is Norwegian money right here. They don't use dollar bills, they use Opie crab." (Matt Bradley, Deadliest Catch S.3-12)

[x] "Hauling metal" or "hauling gear" refers to hauling the metal crab pots up from the sea.

[xi] Mooring Line: Otherwise known as a "hawser." It is usually made out of synthetic materials, such as nylon; nylon is easy to work with and maintain and it also has great elasticity; however, if a highly-stressed nylon line breaks, it results in a very dangerous phenomenon called "snapback," which can sever limbs and cause fatal injuries. (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mooring_(watercraft))

[xii] Jaevla helvete: "Fucking hell" in Norwegian.

[xiii] "Captain, no disrespect intended, but you must surely realize you can't announce the full truth to the crew. You're the captain of this ship; you haven't the right to be vulnerable in the eyes of the crew. You can't afford the luxury of being anything less than perfect. If you do, they lose faith and you lose command." (Spock to Captain Kirk, Star Trek: The Original Series S.1-6)

[xiv] Sig once called the boat a "smoking _prison_ " while attempting to quit smoking for a single day, to prove to himself that he could do it. (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-12)

[xv] "Robots are good. Robots don't think. Robots are used to repetition. Robots don't complain. Robots are little zombies." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-4)

[xvi] Symptoms of "Bering Sea dementia" include: "not thinking properly, no sleep, too much work, and nightmares while still awake." (Jake Harris, Deadliest Catch S.4-15)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment or click the 'kudos' button. Positive feedback and constructive criticism are always welcomed & appreciated.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the red crab season, Sig begins to suffer from horrific nightmares. As the Captain struggles to cope with the additional stress, he wonders if his ominous dreams are a sign that he's losing his sanity or if the nightmares are forewarning him of danger in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. I intend no disrespect towards the crew of the F/V Northwestern or anyone else who appears on the show by writing this story.
> 
> Author's Note: You can now take a 360 tour of the F/V Northwestern on Discovery's website. It's awesome! If you haven't already checked it out, here's the web address: http://www.deadliestcatch360.com/northwestern.html

* * *

 

         "We finally get a chance to rest 'cause the pots have to soak, but Mother Nature decides to hit us with a hurricane," Matt complained, scowling out at the raging storm.

          "Quit your bitchin', Bradley," Jake said as he leaned against the console where the manual wheel[i] was mounted. 

          "What else am I supposed to do!?" the deckhand demanded, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I'd go back to bed, but it's _impossible_ to sleep through this shit."

          "I don't give a damn what you do as long as you do it _silently_ ," Edgar retorted as he manipulated the throttle and the jog stick, trying to keep the _Northwestern's_ nose aimed straight at the center of the menacing 35' waves.[ii] "Trying to navigate through this is a damn nightmare and the last thing I need is you distractin' me with your endless bitch fest." 

          "Hmph," Matt huffed, moodily crossing his arms over his chest and falling into stony silence. 

          "We knew there was a storm comin' our way, but I don't think anyone expected it to get this bad," Nick mused, leaning back in the Co-Captain's chair. 

          The sustained fifty knot winds kicked up to over sixty and the five sailors collectively winced as raindrops slammed against the windows with the same sharp, staccato sound that typically heralded baseball-sized hailstones in Seattle. "You want me to call Sig, Edgar?" Norman asked, hoping the relief skipper wouldn't think that he doubted his abilities at the wheel. 

          Edgar gritted his teeth, nearly biting through the filter of his cigarette as another monstrous wave reared up like a cobra in front of the boat. 'Yeah,' the youngest Hansen thought, 'I can see why Sig gets ulcers up here.'[iii] The constant mental strain of jogging through such a severe storm was stressing Edgar out to the point of having heart palpitations and he wasn't too proud to admit that he'd feel better with Sig at the helm. "Yeah," he replied, "Call down and see if he can come take over." 

          Norman picked up the white telephone and dialed the extension for Sig's stateroom. When the first call went unanswered, he hung up and tried again. 'Sig would never ignore a call from the wheelhouse,' Norman thought, frowning as he returned the phone to its cradle. "He's not answering. Matt, Jake, can you go wake him?" 

          "I think Nick should go," Matt protested, not wanting to be charged with the unenviable duty of disturbing the sleeping skipper. 

          "Why can't you do it?" Norman asked, bewildered by the refusal.         

          Matt shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I figure that because Nick is Sig's favorite,[iv] he'd be the best man for the job." 

          "For fuck's sake!" Edgar snapped, shoving the throttle full-forward as another wave bore down on the 125' fishing vessel. "Go wake Sig and tell him I need him up here," he ordered in his do-it-right-the-fuck-now deck boss voice.

          Jake headed for the wheelhouse stairs and Matt, realizing that he'd be risking his job if he disobeyed Edgar's command, reluctantly followed. "Here we go…like sheep to the slaughter," he muttered as they reached the landing outside of Sig's stateroom. 

          "Matt, what the hell, man!?" Jake exclaimed as the older man made to open the door. 

          "What?" Matt asked exasperatedly. 

          "We can't just barge in," Jake exclaimed, outraged over how disrespectful such an action would be. Growing up as the only boy in a household full of sisters, Jake had quickly learned that entering a person's private space without their express permission was rude; the notion of strolling unannounced and uninvited into Sig's room, into the _Captain's_ quarters, was downright terrifying. 

          "Why not?" Matt asked, confused. "They sent us to wake him up, didn't they?" 

          "Yeah, but let's a least _try_ knocking first," Jake insisted. 

          'We're on a crab boat in the middle of the Bering Sea and he wants to obey social niceties?' Matt thought, regarding Jake with a disbelieving frown. "If Sig didn't hear the ringing phone by his bed," he scoffed, "D'you really think he's going to notice if you knock?" 

          Jake opened his mouth to argue, but Nick joined them on the landing before he could speak. The older fisherman shook his head, regarding the younger deckhands with a disappointed frown. "I'll handle this," Nick said, waving Jake and Matt towards the galley. "Why don't you guys go clean the kitchen or something?" Mavar watched as Matt and Jake reluctantly complied, Matt clenching his jaw as he bit back a mutinous response and Jake wearing a kicked-puppy expression. 

          With a perfunctory knock, Nick opened the door and stepped into Sig's stateroom. "Sig, I'm gonna turn on the light," he warned as he flipped the switch. The fluorescent fixture hummed to life and Nick crossed the carpeted floor to stand beside the bed. "Sig, wake up," Nick said, frowning when the Captain never so much as twitched in response to his voice. Nick tugged at the blankets, disturbing the warm cocoon that surrounded Sig, and the earth-toned comforter slid to the floor with a quiet _swish_. Sig lay on his left side with his back to the door, bare-chested save for the glittering gold chain around his neck, and Nick's eyes widened with alarm when he saw that several dark bruises dotted the pale skin of Sig's back and right shoulder. The deckhand reached out, gently touching Sig's shoulder while trying to avoid the unexplained injury, and rolled him onto his back.

          "Holy hell!" Nick exclaimed as he got his first, unobstructed look at the sleeping sailor's face: From under half-open eyelids, Sig stared unseeingly up at Nick with eerily unfocused sea-blue eyes. Unnerved by Sig's unresponsiveness and afraid for Norwegian's health, Mavar roughly shook the oblivious fisherman. "Sig!"

* * *

_Sig inhaled one last puff from his cigarette and sighed tiredly as he extinguished the butt in the black ashtray. They'd been hauling gear for over twenty-six hours without pause, trying to empty and re-set their pots before the rapidly approaching storm struck. Sig passed his hand through his feathered hair and scratched an itch near the base of his skull as he gazed out the wheelhouse windows. The wind had changed direction, forcing them into the ditch, **[v]** which made working conditions out on deck even more dangerous._

_Sig reached for the loudhailer as he spotted a large wave. "Heads up out there," the eldest Hansen warned, gritting his teeth when water splashed forcefully against the_ Northwestern _. He twisted in his chair, causing the leather to squeak quietly in protest, and glanced out the wheelhouse door. "Everybody okay?" Sig asked over the hailer._

 _"We're good!" "Fine!" "Shit that's cold!" Matt, Edgar, and Jake simultaneously responded._

_Satisfied that his crew was merely waterlogged, Sig chuckled and returned the loudhailer to its place in the neat row of electronics that hung on the overhead bulkhead. He turned his full attention back to the sea and swore when he saw a massive rogue **[vi]** wave rushing straight towards them. Sig simultaneously shoved the throttle full-forward and took hold of the jog stick, aiming the _ Northwestern's _nose directly at the looming wave; **[vii]** he took his hand off the throttle control and grabbed the loudhailer to warn the deckhands of the renewed danger. "Get down! Get the _ fuck _down!" Sig yelled over the hailer as he propelled himself out of his chair and ducked down behind the console a split-second before the wave slammed into the boat. **[viii]** He muttered a quiet prayer of thanks when the wheelhouse windows withstood the onslaught and quickly reseated himself in his chair as the _ Northwestern _slid rapidly down the spine of the 35' wave._

 _By some miracle, Sig had managed to turn the boat so the bow and the wheelhouse had taken the brunt of the impact, sheltering the vulnerable men on deck from the worst of the wave's fury. Although they'd managed to avoid capsizing the boat, there was still danger out on deck; the steep decent caused the line to slip out of the block and the rope draped itself dangerously over Edgar's right shoulder, putting him in the bight of the line. Edgar reacted quickly, spinning clockwise and trying to throw the rope off. Another wave splashed up and doused the deckhands with seawater; already off-balance, Edgar lost his precarious footing and fell, hitting his head on the unforgiving steel of the launcher and rendering him unable to untangle the line that encircled his neck._

_Matt frantically grabbed what little slack remained in the line and wound it into the block, scarcely preventing Edgar from being pulled overboard as the eight hundred pound pot sank back down to the bottom of the Bering Sea._

_Jake dropped the buoy bags and pulled his knife out of his knife belt **[ix]** as he rushed to Edgar's side. The ice-eyed deckhand squatted down next to the unmoving man and skillfully sliced through the rope wrapped around the engineer's neck. "Edgar!" Jake exclaimed loudly, trying to call the deck boss back to consciousness, but Edgar's eyes stayed stubbornly shut._

_"Careful," Nick cautioned, "Don't move him 'til we know how bad he's hurt."_

_Up in the wheelhouse, Sig manipulated the boat through a series of smaller waves and glanced repeatedly at the live camera feed as the deckhands clustered around his brother. Long minutes passed until he finally deemed it safe enough to engage the autopilot and leave the helm. "How is he?" Sig called as he flung the wheelhouse door open. He raced across the upper deck towards the blue-painted ladder that led down to the lower deck. Sig pushed his way into the huddle **[x]** and knelt down at Edgar's side, the knees of his light-wash jeans darkening as the fabric soaked up the seawater._

_"Still out cold," Nick reported as he pulled off his gloves and held his hand in front of Edgar's nose, checking to see if the deck boss was still breathing._

_A 17' swell splashed against the side of the boat and Sig instinctively bent over his brother's prone form to shelter him from the resulting sea spray. "Help me lay him down," the fair-haired Captain requested. "We've gotta support his spine when we move him. Matt, Jake, lift his legs. Norm, come over to his other side and see if you can get your arms behind his back, okay?" Sig turned to Nick as the middle Hansen gingerly stepped over Edgar's long legs and knelt down in the cramped space between the starboard rail and the launcher. "Nick, take his shoulders. I'll steady his head and neck." Sig carefully curled his left hand around the back of Edgar's neck and cradled the engineer's head in his right palm, grimacing when he realized that Edgar's dark hair was saturated with blood. "Okay, on three," he said. "One…two…three!" Sig paled and swallowed against the urge to be sick when he felt Edgar's skull give way under his gentle touch. "Jesus," he murmured as they laid the ragdoll body flat._

_"He's awfully still…" Jake commented somberly, staring at the fallen Hansen's slack, expressionless face._

_Sig pressed his fingertips against the artery in Edgar's neck; finding nothing, he shifted his fingers slightly and held his breath. Sig shook his head, trying to deny the heartbreaking truth as he attempted to find a pulse. Nick gently nudged Sig's shaking fingers aside and pressed his own fingertips against Edgar's neck. 'That's why I didn't feel a pulse,' Sig thought desperately. 'My hands were just shaking too bad….' Nick sadly shook his head and Sig's own heartbeat faltered. 'Don't say it,' the eldest Hansen silently begged. 'Don't say it…'_

_"He's gone," Nick said, voice cracking._

_"No…" Sig whispered as a suffocating cloud of grief and despair settled over him, stealing his breath and…_ he gasped, pale eyelashes fluttering as he blinked dazedly up at a familiar, bearded face. "Nick?" Sig rasped. 

          Relieved that Sig seemed to be okay, Nick released his grip on Sig's shoulders and blew out an unsteady breath. "Damn it, Sig," he said, holding a hand over his frantically beating heart. "I swear you're gonna give me a heart attack." 

          Sig sat up and released a shaky breath. 'Just another nightmare,' he thought. 'But it was just so _vivid_ , like _real_ ….'[xi] He shook his head, pushing the disconcerting dream to the back of his mind. "What'd I do?" Sig asked around a yawn. 

          "You were doing the creepy, thousand-yard stare again, man, like when you were sleepwalking," Nick explained as he stooped down to retrieve Sig's clothes from where the skipper had discarded them in an untidy pile beside his bunk. "I thought you might've had a stroke or an aneurism or something." 

          "At least I didn't wander out on deck this time," Sig muttered, rubbing the left side of his stubble-covered face in an attempt to diminish the marks made by his pillowcase. 

          "Y'know," Nick began as Sig swung his legs over the side of his bunk, "Jake and Matt were originally supposed to wake you. Can you imagine how freaked out they'd've been if they'd've seen you sleeping with your eyes open?" 

          "Good thing you came instead," Sig responded, his voice slightly muffled as he pulled his white t-shirt over his head and tugged it down, hiding the slow-to-heal bruises on his shoulder and back. "What's with the personal wake up call anyway," the Norwegian asked, pulling on his zip-neck pullover.         

          "Norm tried callin' down," Nick explained as Sig sheathed his legs in his jeans, "But you must've slept through it." The deckhand shrugged. "We're sailing through a pretty gnarly storm," he continued, "And Edgar thinks it'd be best if you take over for him." 

          "I'd better get up there then," Sig said as he headed for the door. A wicked wave rocked the _Northwestern_ roughly to her port side, causing the fourth generation fisherman to stumble sideways. "Damn it!" Sig swore as his left wrist slammed against the doorframe. "You all right there, Mavar?" he called, looking at Nick over his shoulder. 

          "I'm good," Nick answered as he regained his footing. 

          Sig glanced down at his injured wrist, a pained grimace gracing his face. 'Fantastic,' he thought, seeing that bruises were already beginning to form.

          "You okay?" Nick asked as Sig experimentally wiggled each of his fingers. 

          Sig bit his lip as he gingerly rotated his injured left wrist first clockwise then counter-clockwise. "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered, silently diagnosing the injury as a painful-but-ignorable sprain. Sig briefly scrutinized his Gold Nugget watch, half-expecting the crystal face to have shattered with the impact, but was pleased to discover it intact. In a gesture that exemplified the 'out of sight, out of mind' philosophy, he lowered his arm and let his hand dangle near his hip, disregarding the throbbing sensation in his wrist as nothing more than a minor annoyance. 

          "I'd better go downstairs and see how Matt and Jake are fairing," Nick said as he followed Sig out of the skipper's stateroom. 

          Nodding farewell, Sig ascended the stairs to the wheelhouse. "Nice," he observed sarcastically as a mammoth wave broke over the _Northwestern's_ bow, splattering the windows with a mixture of sea spray and rainwater. 

          "It's times like these when an Eastern-rigged[xii] boat would have its advantages," Edgar remarked as Sig strode over to claim the Captain's chair. Edgar relinquished the helm to his brother and moved across the wheelhouse to sit at the port side driving station. The relief skipper released a soft sigh of relief, grateful to be out of the hot seat. 

          "House-aft vessels aren't as likely to take a direct hit to the wheelhouse," Norman agreed from his perch on the archive cabinet. "But they're hardly impervious to waves. It only takes one wave to wreck a boat,"[xiii] he addedas Sig reached up and turned on the radio. 

          "Hey," Sig interjected, leveling a quelling, blue-eyed stare at his younger siblings, "I'd like to hear the frickin' weather report!"

          Edgar mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key while Norman offered Sig a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Sig," he apologized contritely before obediently falling silent. 

          The broadcast was almost inaudible over the harsh hiss of static interference. Sig adjusted the volume and listened intently, catching one of every four words as the signal faded in and out. "Shit," he swore as the radio signal cut out completely. Sig scanned through the channels, hoping to find a stronger frequency, and huffed out a frustrated sigh. The static-laden signal fizzled like an Alka-Seltzer tablet in a glass of water and Sig pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache bloomed behind his eyes. Aggravated by the hissing white noise, he turned the radio off. "Fuck," the fair-haired Captain cursed. 

          "Their forecasts are crap anyway," Edgar remarked quietly. "They predicted a storm, but nothin' on this scale." 

          "Well, we'll just have to jog through it," Sig said resignedly. The storm was already on top of them and there was nowhere to run, no nearby island they could take shelter behind,[xiv] and no port they could retreat to…they had no choice but to face the storm at sea. Sig pushed the jog stick hard over, suppressing a wince when the action jarred his injured wrist, and adjusted his speed as another wave rocked the _Northwestern_. 

          The challenge of battling the rising seas and the nautical[xv] winds demanded Sig's undivided attention; his awareness narrowed to the throttle his right hand, the jog stick in his left hand, and the radiating pain from his sprained left wrist until that too faded into the background, unimportant. Sig took his hand off the throttle and quickly retrieved a cigarette from the pack; the unlit cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth as he adjusted the _Northwestern's_ speed for an approaching wave. "This is ridiculous,"[xvi] Sig muttered. With grace that bespoke of many years of practice, he lit his cigarette and sighed softly, cigarette smoke coalescing around him like a gray-white aura. 

          The wind was blowing against the tide and the underwater currents were making it nearly impossible for Sig to control the boat the way he wanted[xvii] through the confused seas.[xviii] "Damn it," he swore softly, forehead creasing with a combination of concentration and anger as he glared out at the raging storm. Time passed…. Sig was peripherally aware of his crew periodically popping in and out of the pilothouse to deliver fresh cups of coffee or to help keep a lookout for waves waiting to ambush the _Northwestern_ from her port side, but the Captain's focus never wavered from the task of navigating through the nightmarish, Alaskan hurricane. 

          Hours later, the _Northwestern_ reached the eye of the fierce storm. Sig released his white-knuckled grip on the controls and flexed his stiff fingers as he leaned wearily back in his chair.[xix] He pressed his fingertips against his forehead, grimacing as a fierce headache beat against the inside of his skull. Sig glanced around the wheelhouse, half-expecting to see one of the deckhands in the Co-Captain's chair, but he was alone. 

          The short-lived respite ended and the weather began to build back up to the same furious intensity. Sig sat forward in his chair and returned his hands to the controls. He shivered as the growling[xx] roar of an oncoming wave reached his ears; even after two decades of fishing on the Bering Sea, Sig still thought it was eerie to sit alone in the wheelhouse with only that ominous sound to break the silence. 'Maybe I can tune into the weather report now,' he thought, briefly reaching up to turn the radio on. 

          The signal was full of static, but Sig managed to decipher what the meteorologist was saying: "Tonight, winds west, sixty-five to seventy with gusts up to seventy-five miles per hour; seas forty-five feet." 

          "Fantastic," Sig muttered as he turned the radio off. The fair-haired Hansen sighed, resigned to spending another eighteen, nerve-wracking hours at the helm.

* * *

          After what seemed like an eternity[xxi] of battling the massive, arctic storm, Sig engaged the autopilot and staggered to his feet, his numb legs refusing to support his weight as he left the Captain's chair for the first time in over thirty-two hours.[xxii] The constant stress and mental acuity required to get safely through the storm had taken their toll, leaving Sig feeling drained and dazed.[xxiii] 

          Sig slowly descended the stairs and walked into his stateroom. He crossed the room and pulled a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, crimson-red polo shirt out of his sea bag before detouring to his private bathroom. After performing his ablutions and dressing in clean clothes, Sig left the bathroom and looked longingly at his bunk. 'No rest for the wicked,'[xxiv] he thought, turning his back on the temptation to climb into his unmade bed and pull the covers up over his head. Sig closed his eyes and stood still, trying to shake off the fatigue. 'Time to get back to work,' Sig thought as he reluctantly left his stateroom and headed down to the galley where his crew had gathered. Matt and Jake were playing with the Xbox while Nick, Norman, and Edgar were playing cards.[xxv] 

          "It finally calmed down enough so you could leave the chair, huh?" Edgar observed, eyes narrowing when he saw the Aleutian-gray[xxvi] hue of his brother's skin. 

          "Uh huh," Sig yawned as he retrieved a spare mug from the cupboard. He shuffled over to the happily burbling coffee maker. Sig reached for the carafe with his left hand, exposing the vivid bruises that marred his wrist as his shirtsleeve rode up. 

          "Holy shit," Jake exclaimed, his ice-blue eyes widening when he caught sight of the injury. "You get in a fight with the jog stick?!" 

          Sig blinked, bewildered. "What?" 

          "Dude," Jake began, abandoning the game controller, "That's some wicked bruising there." He pointed at the swollen joint, half-concealed by the ornate band of Sig's Gold Nugget watch. 

          Sig glanced down, belatedly remembering the injury; he'd become was so accustomed to the pain that he was numb to it. [xxvii] "Oh that," the eldest Hansen said unconcernedly as his crew clustered around to investigate the mysterious injury. 

          "What'd you _do_?" Matt asked, whistling as he got his first glimpse of the impressive black and blue bruising. 

          "That's not from when we were in your stateroom and the boat took that wave?" Nick inquired, eyeing the sprained joint. 

          "Yeah," Sig answered with a dispassionate shrug. "I bashed it against the doorframe." 

          "Sig!" Mavar exclaimed reprovingly. "Why didn’t you _say_ something when I asked if you were okay?" 

          "It's nothing," Sig stated as Norman reached out and caught hold of his shirtsleeve. 

          Grasping his brother's forearm, Norman straightened Sig's arm at the elbow so his arm was extended straight out in front of him. He pushed Sig's sleeve up so he could see the injury more clearly. "We should get some ice on this," Norman declared, tightening his grip when the stubborn blonde tried to pull his arm away. 

          "I don’t know why you guys are makin' such a big deal about it," Sig grumbled. He shook his head when Jake and Matt left to gather the necessary medical supplies. "I'm fine," he insisted, purposefully neglecting to mention that having to constantly use his wrist to pilot the boat through the storm had only exacerbated the injury. "It doesn't even hurt."[xxviii] 

          "If one of us got hurt, you'd just tell us to suck it up and expect us to go back to work like nothing was wrong?"[xxix] Nick asked sarcastically. 

          "You'd have us sit down," Norman said, ushering Sig over to the galley table. 

          "You'd get the first aid kit," Matt added, returning with the large medical supply box. The deckhand unlatched the clasp and opened the lid; reaching inside the carefully organized kit, he quickly found an Ace wrap and handed it to Edgar. 

         "You'd wrap it up for us," the deck boss continued as he repositioned his brother's arm and gingerly removed the Gold Nugget timepiece from Sig's swollen wrist. "Nice and tight to give it some stability," he murmured as he expertly wrapped the injured joint. 

          "You'd tell us to ice it," Jake chimed in, returning with an ice pack as Edgar finished binding Sig's injury. The youngest deckhand gently placed the ice atop the Captain's wrist. Sig hissed in discomfort, but left the cold pack in place.

          Nick reached over and extracted some over-the-counter painkillers from the still-open first aid kit; he effortlessly conquered the childproof cap and shook four tablets out into his palm. "And you'd dose us with Ibuprofen,"[xxx] he concluded, offering the pills to Sig. Sig dry-swallowed the tablets and chased them with a sip of coffee. 

          "And _then_ you'd tell us to suck it up and get back to work," Edgar added, earning an outburst of laughter from the deckhands and causing Sig to swallow wrong. 

          Sig coughed to clear his throat, blue eyes watering after having his mouthful of coffee go down the wrong tube. "Right," he rasped, chuckling. He looked at the concerned fishermen assembled around the table and offered each member of his seafaring family a silent 'thank you.' Sig repositioned the ice pack and cleared his throat again. "I'm about to start bawlin' here," [xxxi] he stated gruffly, "So knock it off with this Hallmark stuff and let's get back to work." 

          "All right, you heard the Captain," Edgar declared, grinning widely as he closed the first aid kit and got to his feet. "Let's go see if we took any damage during the storm." 

          "Then we can haul our last few strings," Matt said. 

          "Plug the boat," Norman continued. 

          "Head to port," Nick said. 

          "Offload our catch," Jake added, ginning. 

          "And go home," Sig concluded. "Safe and sound," he added somberly, his vow drowned out by his crew's boisterous cheering.

* * *

          Sig steered the _Northwestern_ towards pot seventy-seven, distrustfully eyeing the buoy bags that bobbed innocently on the water. "I'm being ridiculous," he muttered, reaching for the pack of Camels on the console. Sig tucked a cigarette between his lips and flicked his lighter to life. He exhaled the smoke and tried to ignore his worsening apprehension. "I've been on edge every time we've hauled this pot," Sig grumbled, "And, other than that bad bridle, nothin' bad has happened." Sig pulled off his reading glasses and set them aside. He shivered, feeling chilled in spite of the warmth emanating from the heater.         

          Sig set the smoldering cigarette in the ashtray and reached over to adjust the heater, aborting the move in favor of grabbing his head when the dull, pounding headache that he'd been ignoring unexpectedly intensified. Sig curled in on himself and squeezed his watering eyes shut, struggling to master the searing pain that threatened to split his skull apart. " _Fuck!_ " the fair-haired Hansen swore, clenching his hands into white-knuckled fists against his scalp. Sig lurched back in his chair, blue eyes snapping open and gasping for breath as some kind of supernatural force surged through him. A rapid-fire slideshow of the nightmares that had haunted him for the past six weeks replayed before his eyes and he couldn't escape the seemingly endless parade of flashbacks. 

          The episode ended as suddenly as it had begun and Sig slumped sideways in his chair like a discarded doll. His vision grayed in and out of focus and his hearing cut in and out like a weak radio signal; Sig caught bits and pieces of his crew's conversation over the loudhailer as they worked, unaware of his predicament in the wheelhouse. Breathing raggedly, Sig weakly righted himself in the Captain's chair; dazed from his ordeal, he sat, shaken, pale, and sweating, until Edgar's voice jarred him out of his trance. 

          "Double the luck," the deck boss laughingly declared. 

          Before he realized what he was doing, Sig half-leapt, half-staggered to his feet and stumbled out onto the upper deck just in time to see pot number seventy-seven clear the starboard rail. He was halfway down the blue-painted ladder when the crab cage clanged down onto the launcher. Sig heard the metallic 'clink' of the dogs as they clamped down on the frame, holding the pot in place, but, in his mind's eye, he saw _the launcher shift upright, holding the pot perpendicular to the table so the crab could be dumped out and sorted; a split second later, the eight hundred pound pot slipped out of the dogs. The steel cage crashed down onto the sorting table, crushing and killing many of the crab, before it bounced across and hit Edgar, who, in a brief moment of inattention, had been standing in the pot's flight path. **[xxxii]** _ The Captain blinked the vision away just as the hydraulic rams started to raise the launcher upright. "Edgar, run!"[xxxiii] Sig roared.         

          Caught off guard by his brother's unexpected yell, Edgar whirled around to see what was wrong. "Wha-AH!?" the deck boss cried out in surprise as Sig barreled into him, roughly tackling him. 

          The falling crab pot missed Sig's skull by mere centimeters, passing close enough to ruffle his hair as the two Hansens fell to the deck in a tangle of limbs. The sharp 'snap' of Sig's wrist and the Captain's pained scream went unheard over the deafening clatter of falling steel as the rogue pot slammed into the port side shelter deck. 

          "Sig!" "Edgar!" "Boss!" Nick, Matt, and Jake exclaimed simultaneously while Norman uttered a wordless shout of alarm. The four deckhands rushed to help the two fallen fishermen, who laid half-under the makeshift shelter of the sorting table. 

          Pinned against the deck by his brother's body, Edgar resisted the urge to squirm free, fearing that any movement he made could worsen any injuries Sig may have sustained. "Sig!?" he called worriedly, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps as the others raced to their aid. "Sig!? You okay!?" 

          "Ow, _fuck_!" Sig cursed, rolling sideways off of Edgar's taller body and jarring his badly broken wrist in the process. "Are _you_ okay?" he demanded breathlessly, cradling his injured wrist close to his chest as Edgar slowly pushed his battered body upright. 

          "I'm good," Edgar replied, leaning back against the sorting table. 

          "You're bleeding!" Norman exclaimed, noticing the sizeable gash on Edgar's forehead just above his right eyebrow. 

          "Must've hit my head when we landed," the youngest Hansen responded, raising a trembling hand to wipe away the blood that tickled his face as it trickled freely from the wound. 

          "Don't, dude," Matt advised, intercepting the engineer's hand. He held up three fingers and began checking his friend for signs of a concussion. "How many fingers d'you see?" 

          As Matt and Norman tended to Edgar, Nick and Jake came to Sig's aid. "I _swear_ , Sig," Nick declared, face pale beneath his beard, "A heart attack. That's what you're gonna give me." 

          "Sorry," Sig chuckled wearily, wincing as Mavar gently took hold of his left forearm. 

          "That doesn't look good," Jake murmured, staring at Sig's Ace-wrapped wrist and turning distinctly green. 

          "Snapped it like a toothpick," the Captain confirmed, calmly appraising the unnatural angle of the joint. 

          "At least it's not a compound fracture," Nick said, relieved that the bone hadn't punctured the skin. He said a silent prayer of 'thanks' as he concluded, "It could've been worse." 

          "A _lot_ worse," Sig echoed somberly, recalling all the nightmarish scenarios he'd experienced as he met Nick's gaze. 

          'Whoa!' Nick thought, suppressing a shiver as Sig's sea-blue eyes _flared_ with a flash of some kind of otherworldly awareness. Unnerved, he looked away and watched as Norman and Matt helped Edgar to his feet. 

          "Twisted my left ankle and banged my right knee when we went down," Edgar reported before Sig could draw breath to ask. "Oh," he added, gesturing at the bleeding cut on his forehead, "And I whacked my head…again." 

          "How're you doing?" Norman asked. 

          Sig shrugged, then grimaced; his already-bruised right shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact when he'd tackled Edgar and now new bruises were forming over the old ones. "Busted my wrist," Sig said, making no mention of his injured shoulder. "And I think Edgar got me with his elbow when we went down," he added, prodding at a tender spot on the left side of his jaw where a bruise was already beginning to blossom. 

          "Dude!" Jake exclaimed, "He's a _hero_ and you _hit_ him!?" 

          "I didn't mean to," Edgar protested. 

          "I wasn't being a hero,"[xxxiv] Sig interjected. "I was being a big brother." 

          "Awe," Matt teased, causing Nick, Jake, and Norman to laugh as Sig scowled and Edgar blushed. "In any case, man," Bradley continued, "That was one _spectacular_ tackle." He grinned conspiratorially at Sig as Nick and Jake helped him stand. 

          "Yeah," Jake agreed, nodding enthusiastically, "The Seahawks[xxxv] should draft you." 

          "You sure you didn't hit your head?" Nick questioned, steadying Sig when the skipper swayed. 

          "Kinda dizzy," Sig admitted quietly, "But I think the adrenaline's just wearin' off." 

          "Come on," Nick declared, "Let's go inside." 

          "Might have to butterfly that shut," Norman observed, eyeing Edgar's head wound. 

          "Just as long as there's no dental floss[xxxvi] involved," the relief skipper replied with an overdramatic shudder, hobbling towards the entryway with Matt and Norm's assistance. 

          "Fisherman's honor,"[xxxvii] the hydraulics expert promised. 

          "What?" Edgar asked, catching sight of Sig's small smile as the six men moved into the galley. "You get stitched up with _floss_ and see how you like it," he said as Jake went to retrieve the first aid kit. 

          "It's not that," Sig answered. "I'm just glad we're all alive." The fear, anxiety, and unease that had tied his stomach into knots were gone. The Captain expelled a relieved sigh, breathing easy for the first time since the King crab season had begun six weeks earlier. 'Finally,' Sig thought, 'The nightmare's over.'

* * *

**References & Glossary of Terms:**

[i] While fishing for Opilio crab, the crew of the _Northwestern_ has to use the manual wheel due to a broken part, a part that connects the jog stick into the rudder controls; Jake Anderson is put in charge of steering the vessel with the manual wheel while Sig operates the throttle control. (Deadliest Catch S.10-8) 

[ii] "You've gotta be literally forcing that boat into that weather to keep that boat up against it otherwise you have no control." (Sig Hansen, After the Catch 1; Deadliest Catch S.4-17) 

[iii] "Yeah, I can see why he [Sig] gets ulcers up here [in the wheelhouse]." (Edgar Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-8) "I can see where all the stress comes from." (Edgar Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.10-7) 

[iv] Edgar tries to "scare the hell" out of Sig by throwing a dummy dressed like Nick off the top of the wheelhouse. "We'll put Nick's jacket on it 'cause he [Sig] seems to love Nick more than his own brothers." (Edgar Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-16) 

[v] Working in the "ditch" or "trough" means the waves come over the starboard rail where the men are working, which increases the danger of getting swept overboard. (Deadliest Catch S.5-2) 

[vi] Rogue Wave: A wave that is at least twice the size of other waves in the same ocean area. A rogue can topple a boat in the blink of an eye is still considered to be a natural phenomenon; research is ongoing to try and pinpoint the cause of these monster waves. (electronics.howstuffworks.com/deadliest-catch1.htm) An interviewer asked, "How common are rogue waves and what's the largest one you have seen?" and Sig answered, "Rogue waves are common, especially during the peak of a storm and after. They're not necessarily big. A rogue wave to me is more of a freight train coming at you. Waves are usually synchronized, and a rogue wave comes with all its power out of the blue. It has a different force behind it. They suck!" ([www.helium3game.com/web/deadliestcatch/interviews/sighansen/?page=3](http://www.helium3game.com/web/deadliestcatch/interviews/sighansen/?page=3)) 

[vii] "When you see 'em [the big waves] comin', then you gotta point into it and power in, otherwise it's gonna take you. So you wanna really manipulate the boat through the waves the best you can." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-11) 

[viii] Upon seeing a massive 35' rogue wave headed straight for the boat, Sig ordered the cameraman to, "Get down! Get the fuck down!" as he ducked for cover between the console and the Captain's chair. (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-11) 

[ix] Edgar has a strict rule that dictates every deckhand has to carry a knife; he went so far to put a "smelly cod" in Jake's knife belt to help him remember the lesson. (Deadliest Catch S.4-3) 

[x] This word choice is deliberate; Sig once gave the deckhands the option: "You can pull [gear] tomorrow in 65 or pull all night and stay alive. […] Now they're huddling." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-15) 

[xi] After learning about Captain Phil Harris' passing, Sig reveals he had a dream about being at Phil's house, but being unable to find him: "For some reason, I couldn't sleep; I got up a couple, three times. Phil was on my head. It was like this dream and I was over at his place and he's always blarin' loud music and stuff and he had his bike parked out front with some parts scattered around, but there was nobody there. It was just _vivid_ , like _real_ , but it was empty." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-16) 

[xii] Eastern-rigged refers to a house-aft style vessel; Western-rigged refers to a house-forward style vessel. 

[xiii] "It only takes one [wave]." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-16) 

[xiv] If the weather is going to get too severe, sometimes boats will anchor behind an island to take shelter from the storm. (Deadliest Catch S.2-1) (Deadliest Catch S.4-13) (Deadliest Catch S.5-16) 

[xv] "Nautical" usually refers to the high winds on the Bering Sea, but it can also be used to describe bad weather in general. 

[xvi] "This [weather] is ridiculous." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-15) (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-9) 

[xvii] "I don't have control. The tide is goin' against the wind so I cannot control the way I want to." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-10) 

[xviii] Confused seas: A highly disturbed water surface without a single, well-defined direction of wave travel. (encyclopedia2.thefreedictionary.com/confused+sea) 

[xix] "Jog stick and throttle, all night. Autopilot won't hold. […] Full reverse comin' down the wave, full reverse; and then, soon as you get to the bottom, you full-forward, try to keep her straight 'til that wave hits you, and you're actually goin' backwards. You're goin' backwards, but you're stayin' straight." (Johnathan Hillstrand, Deadliest Catch S.4-17) 

[xx] We call 'em growlers 'cause you can actually hear 'em; it sounds like…everybody said it's like a tornado." (Andy Hillstrand, Deadliest Catch S.4-17) 

[xxi] "Every single wave is your enemy. Every one that's comin' at you, you don't know what's gonna happen, so every single one, for days on end…" (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-17) 

[xxii] "And I've jumped outta the chair after eight, twelve, fifteen, twenty, twenty-six hours before where, literally, my lower half of my body was completely numb." (Keith Colburn, Deadliest Catch S.4-17) 

[xxiii] "You know, there's a level of concentration at the wheel that you have that is, like, I mean, you're on high alert, and I have literally been in that chair, and I'm sure everybody else has, to the point where you _can't_ get outta the chair, you can't do _anything_." (Keith Colburn, Deadliest Catch S.4-17) 

[xxiv] During a 'family' dinner aboard the boat, the three Hansen brothers discuss their childhoods and Sig describes himself as "evil" while remembering a particular Christmas present from his parents: "Let's get the older, evil son some boxing gloves." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-7) 

[xxv] "[…]You'd wake up and you'd hear this _click click click click click_ and, uh, then it was the old man playin' cards on the table. So he'd play solitaire, givin' everybody a couple a minutes to take a nap, y'know, and sleep and then you'd hear that _flick flick flick flick flick_ , y'know, or shufflin' the cards and you knew he wanted someone to come play cards with him, you know he wanted company 'cause he was doin' it kinda loud; so then 'all right' you'd get up and you'd play a little cards or have a cup of coffee and, uh, then he'd look at the clock and 'the tide should be slackin' off pretty quick' and then you'd head out and go fish. "   ([www.deadliestcatch360.com/northwestern.html](http://www.deadliestcatch360.com/northwestern.html)) 

[xxvi] Aleutian-gray: A deckhand on the F/V Time Bandit coined this phrase, referring to the color of the sky when a storm front is approaching the fishing vessels on the Bering Sea. (Deadliest Catch S.4-7) 

[xxvii] Nick Mavar had his nose snapped in two by a steel picking hook and kept insisting that his nose didn't hurt and that it was just cut, but Sig told him, "Well, it doesn't hurt 'cause it's sore and, you know, it's numb. You don't feel it…yet. But you will." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-11) 

[xxviii] "You beat a dog enough, it doesn't hurt after awhile; I suppose it gets used to it." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-3) 

[xxix] "I don't want my brothers to be in pain. I don't want my crew to be in pain." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-13) 

[xxx] After Nick got hit in the nose with a crane hook, Sig told Matt to "get him some Ibuprofen" while he went to the wheelhouse to "make a call down south" to a hospital to ascertain whether they needed to get Nick professional medical attention. (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-11) 

[xxxi] Sig spoke about the end of "derby-style" fishing: "…I'm about to start bawlin', so knock it off." (Deadliest Catch S.1-10) 

[xxxii] "A big part of makin' the deck safe is those dogs. An eight hundred seventy-five pound pot landing on your head is not gonna hurt, it's just gonna kill you." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-9) 

[xxxiii] Sig says, "Basically, the rule on the boat for us nowadays is, look, if somethin' goes crazy like that [referring to the dangerous task of retrieving an anchor they lost in a storm], just run. It's not worth it." Edgar scoffs and remarks, "Screw that. I'm not gonna run." (Deadliest Catch S.4-19) 

[xxxiv] "The main thing is you gotta just get outta the way. Heroes on a crab boat don't last long." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-2) 

[xxxv] During an interview with Danny Scott in 2005, Sig revealed he is a Seahawks fan. (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sig_Hansen) When the Seattle Seahawks were playing in the Super Bowl, Sig and the crew listened to the game while continuing to fish; they also had a competition to see who could swear the least in a day and whoever lost (Sig) had to do the dishes for the duration of the trip. (Deadliest Catch S.10-13) 

[xxxvi] In an episode of "After the Catch," Sig reveals how he used dental floss to stitch up a cut on Edgar's head after Edgar got hit by a piece of falling ice. ([www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/flossing-saves-lives.htm](http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/deadliest-catch/videos/flossing-saves-lives.htm)) 

[xxxvii] While promising not to lie to win the yearly Captain's wager, Sig swore to tell the truth by saying, "Fisherman's honor," much to the amusement of the other Captains. (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-1) Having Norman echo this sentiment adds another level of realism to the dialogue, even though his older brother is the one that originally said it.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Navigating the Nightmare is, sadly, coming to a close. Don't worry just yet, because there's still an epilogue to look forward to. Please feel free to leave kudos or comment with positive feedback/constructive criticism; I'm planning to have this printed and bound so I can add it to my personal library, and I'd rather fix any errors beforehand so I don't have the expense/headache that would come with having to re-print a 70 page (not counting the reference notes) story.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the red crab season, Sig begins to suffer from horrific nightmares. As the Captain struggles to cope with the additional stress, he wonders if his ominous dreams are a sign that he's losing his sanity or if the nightmares are forewarning him of danger in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. Sig and the crew of the F/V Northwestern are my favorite fishermen on the Bering Sea; I intend no disrespect towards them or anyone else who appears on Deadliest Catch by writing this story.
> 
> Author's Note: Okay everyone, here's the epilogue chapter to Navigating the Nightmare. Enjoy!

* * *

**Epilogue**          

          Captain Johnathan Hillstrand guided the 113' _Time Bandit_ neatly into the open space across from the _Northwestern_ so the two fishing vessels sat nose to nose. Once his crew had secured the lines and he had completed a few tasks in the wheelhouse, the eldest Hillstrand bounded down the L-shaped stairs into the galley. John paused by the door that led to the deck. "Hey," he called to Andy, "I'm gonna stop next door and see Sig for a second." 

          "Seems like you two have become pretty good friends this season," Andy observed. "You make some kind of side wager that you neglected to tell me about?"

          "Nah," John answered, shaking his head, "Nothin' like that, man." He adjusted the collar of his USA jacket. "Sig's been havin' a tough time with some stuff," John explained, "And I wanna go see if he's doin' better now."

          "Oh," the Co-Captain replied, still slightly baffled by the newfound level of friendship his older brother shared with the eldest Hansen. He mentally crossed his fingers for luck, hoping that the camaraderie between Johnathan and the rival Captain wouldn't degenerate into some kind of feud. "Well," Andy continued, "Say 'hi' for me I guess."

          "I will," Johnathan called over his shoulder as he stepped outside. He leapt onto the dock and casually ambled over to where the _Northwestern_ was tied. Seeing that no one was on deck, the brunette curled his hands around his mouth, forming a makeshift megaphone. "Anybody home?"

          "Who is it?" Jake replied, poking his head out the entryway door.

          "Captain Johnathan Hillstrand," John proudly declared, playfully puffing out his chest, "Requesting permission to come aboard."

          "Permission granted," Norman replied, appearing beside Jake and watching as the rival Captain climbed aboard their white and blue-painted boat. "C'mon into the galley," he said, beckoning Johnathan inside.

          "Want some coffee?" Jake asked politely as the three-man procession moved through the entryway, passing the crews' haphazardly-hung oilskins that hung from their respective hooks like some kind of abstract art.

          John chuckled as he followed the two deckhands into the galley. "In a _Northwestern_ mug?" He dramatically pressed a hand to his heart and gasped with mock-horror. 

          "Oh, we wouldn't tell anyone," Jake assured the older sailor, sharing a conspiratorial smirk with Norman.

          "Can't promise someone won't snap a picture though," Norman deadpanned, causing Jake to snicker and Johnathan to laugh out loud. "Sig's on the phone with Madsen[i] arranging our flight home," the hydraulics expert said, splitting away from the group and angling left towards the staircase that led up to the pilothouse, "But I'll tell him you're here."

         "Thanks," John replied as he and Jake headed for the galley table. The eldest Hillstrand stopped short beside the white refrigerator when Edgar half-limped, half-staggered out of the cooking area, presumably on his way to his cabin. "Holy hell, man!" Johnathan exclaimed, brown eyes widening as he noticed the brace on Edgar's knee and the butterfly strips adhered to the torn skin by his right eyebrow. "Sig go Captain on your ass or what happened to you!?"

          "Sorta," the deck boss chuckled. 

          Matt, who was in the process of straightening the movies and games in the media cabinet situated to Johnathan's left, stopped mid-motion. "Man, that was one _incredible_ tackle," he remarked reverently, tilting his head back and closing his eyes to better recall the memory.

          "Tackle?" Johnathan queried disbelievingly, looking between the three men. "Like a _football_ tackle?"

          "Um," Edgar began, "Kinda?" He drew breath to explain what had happened, but was interrupted by a sudden crash that came from the wheelhouse. The impressive display of Norwegian cursing that immediately followed made the youngest Hansen blush.

          "Edgar!" Sig bellowed.

          "Uh oh," Edgar gulped.

          "Ooh, looks like you're in trouble now," Johnathan joked.

          Sig stormed down the stairs, stalking towards his brother and holding a set of crutches in his outstretched right hand. "Here," he declared, pushing the medical supports into Edgar's hands. "That's the third time I've tripped over the frickin' things."

          Edgar offered his brother a sheepish grin. "Yeah, sorry," he said. Edgar indicated the bandage on his forehead. "I keep forgettin' where I set them down."       

          "Bullshit," Matt remarked, disguising the comment with a poorly-faked cough and earning a glare from his friend. 

          "'Forgetting?'" Sig responded skeptically. "More like 'intentionally misplacing' if you ask me." He huffed out a breath, unable to stay angry with Edgar over something so trivial. "Look," he continued, "Use 'em or don't, that's your choice, but don't leave 'em lyin' around anymore."

          "Okay," Edgar agreed, inwardly surprised that Sig hadn't read him the riot act for disregarding the doctor's instructions.

          "And to be fair," Sig added, "No hit to the head has ever adversely affected your memory. Remember," he chuckled raspingly, "You're talkin' to the guy who used to pin your gloves to your jacket sleeves so you wouldn't lose 'em when you went to school."

          "Idiot mittens," Matt stage-whispered to John and Jake, making the two fishermen snicker.

          "Thanks, Sig," Edgar mock-scowled, "You're all heart."

          "He's your big brother," Jake sing-songed.

          "And he lo~ves you," Matt added.

          "You see what I have to put up with?" Sig asked with mock-exasperation, turning his head to meet Johnathan's gaze and giving the other Captain his first glimpse of the impressive bruise that decorated the left side of his face. The Norwegian shook his head and gestured with his left hand towards the staircase, inadvertently drawing attention to the plaster cast that encased his broken wrist. "C'mon up to the wheelhouse," Sig said. "We can talk without commentary from the peanut gallery."

          "Sure," Johnathan amiably agreed, falling into step behind the shorter fisherman as he ascended the two flights of stairs. Reaching the pilothouse, John moved to stand near the archive cabinet as Sig habitually settled into the Captain's chair. John winced empathetically: The bruise on Sig's face was even more apparent in the sun-lit wheelhouse. "Looks like Edgar isn't the only one who got beat up this season," he observed, indicating the contusion that spanned the length of Sig's jaw line by touching his own face.

          "Yeah, it's been somethin' else, man," Sig agreed, reaching up with his left hand to comb his fingers through his hair before belatedly remembering the bulky cast that covered his forearm and hand.

          John whistled. "You and Edgar are like the walking-wounded of the Bering Sea."

          "It could've been _so_ much worse," Sig said solemnly, remembering the disturbing dreams he'd endured before shaking off the unsettling recollections. "You remember that scream of intuition I told you about?"

          "Yeah, I remember," John nodded. The memory of Sig's sea-blue eyes, burning with some kind of supernatural awareness, resurfaced and he shivered in spite of the warmth from his leather jacket.

          "I won't bore you with the grisly details, but…" Sig paused, swallowing thickly. "…I heard that scream for _weeks_ , man."

          "I can't even imagine," John admitted. "To have your instincts constantly screamin' at you like that…" He shook his head, wondering how the rival Captain had coped with the unrelenting unease. "…I'd've gone nuts."

          "I had these god-awful nightmares," Sig confided. "They'd…" he paused, searching for the right word, "…Linger, sometimes, even after I woke up. So I'd just work, y'know, just avoid sleep for as long as I possibly could and hope that I'd be too tired to dream when I finally crashed. Yeah," he laughed humorlessly, "That didn't work out so well." Sig shook his head and retrieved his cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of his green button-down shirt. "But, lookin' back," he continued, "Those nightmares were a blessing in disguise." Sig selected a cigarette and raised the pack, silently asking if John wanted one too.

          "Really?" Johnathan asked as he plucked a single cigarette from the proffered package and reached into the inside pocket of his coat for his lighter.

          Sig nodded wordlessly, lighting his own cigarette and exhaling a stream of smoke up towards the ceiling. "Yeah, those dreams or premonitions or _whatever_ you wanna call 'em, they frickin' _sucked_." He took a long drag off his cigarette and continued, "But, seein' all the awful shit happen in those dreams just made me more determined to stop that from happenin' in reality."

          Johnathan frowned. "If you were ready to react, how'd you and Edgar get so beat up?"       

          "Trust me," Sig laughed, "A busted wrist and a few bruises are _way_ better than anything I saw in those nightmares."       

          "Okay, I gotta ask, man…" the brunette began, "…Did you really _tackle_ Edgar?" Sig muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, but Johnathan caught the words, 'Loud-mouth Matt,' amongst the Norwegian's grumbling.

          "Saved his life," Sig said. Seeing the curious gleam in John's eyes, Sig explained, "It was business as usual, y'know? They were all on deck pullin' pots and sortin' crab and I was up here in the wheelhouse; all of a sudden, I _knew_ this pot was gonna slip outta the dogs and I just reacted, y'know? I think I was halfway down the ladder out there before the pot even landed on the launcher; anyways, I yelled at Edgar to run, but I could tell that he wasn't gonna get outta the way in time, so I tackled him." A phantom-breeze from his close call with the falling crab pot tousled Sig's hair and he reached up, unconsciously smoothing the blonde strands down.

          "Wow," John said, shaking his head in amazement. He took a final puff of his cigarette and stepped forward to extinguish it in the black, plastic ashtray that resided on the Captain's console. "So," he began, gesturing to Sig's cast, "How long you gotta wear that?"

          Sig deposited his spent cigarette in the ashtray and got to his feet. "Luckily, the break wasn't too bad," he explained as he led the way out onto the upper deck. Sig took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the sea air as he walked over to the blue-painted railing. "Baring any complications," he continued, "The cast'll come off in four to six weeks."

          "Just in time for Opies," John chuckled.

          "Just in time for Opies," Sig agreed, grinning.

          "I hope you have an easier time of things next season," Johnathan said.

          "Amen, brother," Sig said. "Thanks, John," he added, shaking the taller man's hand. "It means a lot, y'know, that you came over to check on me."

          "No problem," Johnathan answered. He laughed when Sig's grip abruptly tightened. "Ease up a little would you? I don't want a matching cast for _my_ hand." The pressure on his palm didn't lessen and John frowned. "Sig?"

          "It's not over," Sig whispered, eyes alight with ethereal blue fire. He stared eerily ahead, focused on a vision of the new nightmares Fate would force him to face in the future.

 

 

The End.

* * *

**References & Glossary of Terms:**

[i] Tom Madsen Airport, also known as Unalaska Airport and Dutch Harbor Airport, was renamed in 2002 in honor of Charles Thomas Madsen Sr., a Bush pilot who was known as the “Aleutian Aviator”, and spent many years delivering cargo and passengers to Kodiak, Cordova, the North Slope, Juneau and the Aleutian and Pribilof Islands. (www.ci.unalaska.ak.us/portsandharbors/page/tom-madsen-airport)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I am planning to write a sequel to Navigating the Nightmare, but it will not be posted any time in the near future; sadly, it's still in what I call the 'conceptional stage.' But, I have the weekend off from work so I'm hoping I can make some significant progress. 
> 
> Please take a moment to leave kudos or feedback! It's like Christmas morning for me 'cause I check everyday to see if anyone has reviewed or 'liked' my story. As Johnathan Hillstrand would say, "Ooh, what do I got? Is there a little red bicycle under the tree?" (Deadliest Catch, S.11-1) *lol* Also, please feel free to point out any punctuation errors, skipped words, misspellings, etc.; I'm planning to have this printed and bound so I can add the hardcopy to my library and I'd seriously cry if I discovered typos after spending all the time and money on it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please check back for the sequel.
> 
> -The Swordsman


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